Dreams to Die For

by Alan G Boyes

  “I, er, I don’t know if we can supply all this Fadyar, but I will try. You have been very specific on some items and may have to accept substitutes. Your instructions are clear enough.”

  “Actually Claude, I think you will find you can obtain them. We used the weapons at the camp and were told these would be fairly standard issue for high profile operations.”

  Carron managed to hide his irritation at the mild rebuke. “Well, I will of course try anyway. What items did you want delivered here?”

  “The sniper rifle and some ammunition. As you can see, I have given you a choice but it must be one of those.”

  Carron read the list again. Fadyar had specified the Heckler & Koch HK417 with 0.308 ammunition, the AWSM or Arctic Warfare Super Magnum with 0.50 ammunition or the Barrett M95 with 0.50 ammunition. All had to have sound-stifling silencers and 10X scopes. Her preference was for either the British-made AWSM or the American Barrett, both fitted with Schmidt and Bender PM11 scopes to provide the necessary magnification.

  All the sniper rifles she listed had a Minute Of Angle (MOA) of 1 or better. The most common way of describing the accuracy of a sniper rifle is to measure the average diameter of a circle that may be drawn around a group of bullet holes in the target. Several groups of five or three rounds are fired and then every group is measured. The average group diameter is calculated and expressed in MOA. 1MOA is roughly equivalent to 1 inch group diameter at 100 yards or to 2 inches at 200 yards etc. So a rifle that shoots to 1MOA accuracy could place five bullets in a circle of no more than three inches in diameter at 300 yards. The American Barrett and the British AWSM, when loaded with the right ammunition, could shoot 0.5 MOA (or better) meaning 1 inch grouping at 200 yards, or 2 inch grouping at 400 yards. They were incredibly accurate weapons up to and well beyond 800 yards.

  Fadyar needed the rifle early to fine-tune it, and she reassured Carron that she would be happy to conceal it on the car when she travelled over to England in September. Carron thought that an unnecessary risk but Fadyar assured him that controls on cars were lax at the ports, especially when a large vehicle ferry was in need of being loading or unloaded. She laughed and said, “The British cannot even find the Sangatte refugees that use the ferries!” Carron smiled. It was certainly true what she said, he just hoped that her confidence was not misplaced. He continued reading down the list.

  “I’ll put in the order but this will cost and if you require a plane or boat we are talking serious money Fadyar, at least 100,000 euros.”

  “Yes, I realise that, but my task is to capture the target; it is for others to notify me at the appropriate time how I am to hand that person over. When I was sent to Europe, I was tasked with setting up a special account for such situations. If you cannot get the money through your channels, I will ensure you receive it, but you will understand that the funds will have to pass through many hands before reaching you. I assume you have a secret account known only to our friends at the Yemeni Bank? I may not be able to fund everything from my special account – my team will incur considerable expenditure and I may need some funds of my own to draw upon quickly, it’s all in the note.” Fadyar sounded commanding, her confidence growing as she talked more about the operation and the equipment.

  “Yes. I’m aware of the existence of the accounts, Fadyar. No problem.”

  “OK then. I think we’re done. I shall not move the funds until the last moment to minimise any risk of them being noted and tracked, just in case. No, wait. There is something else. I want no harm to befall the English bank manager and his wife, either before or after the operation, whatever its outcome.”

  Carron looked at her enquiringly and raised his eyebrows.

  “There is simply no need. If I fail, I will be dead or captured. If I succeed, I will be long gone. He will have enough trouble on his hands with the British authorities and identifying me after the event is only likely to add to his problems. He will not affect us in any way.”

  “That’s true,” conceded Carron. “I will ensure nothing happens to them.”

  After consuming some biscuits and cheese, and another glass of the fruit juice, Carron bid Fadyar farewell. As he was walking out and into the fresher, but still warm air, he turned slowly and faced her. “We have known each other a long time, my dear sister. I shall pray for your success and safe return. Praise be to Allah.”

  As she closed the door behind him, a slight tear dropped from her eye. She had grown to like him.

  39

  Jack Donaldson returned from his customary weekend five mile run, hardly having raised a sweat. He took pride in keeping his body fit and in good condition, and the early morning exercise on Saturday’s and Sunday’s supplemented his weekday workouts at the London gym. Usually he took great interest in the ever-changing flora and fauna as he ran into the woodland and along footpaths, but today his mind was preoccupied with Cindy and her unknown friend in the Volvo. As his feet pounded the uneven surface of the country trails, his speculation of what Cindy and her friend had spent the night doing grew in intensity, the rising anger making him run faster and faster. Had he bothered to set his stopwatch, he would have recorded his quickest ever time. After a quick shower and light breakfast, he drove to Grimley, arriving close to Cindy Crossland’s cottage at just before 9am. He had only just switched off the car engine when the garage door opened.

  Cindy and Gordon were dressed very casually in country clothes despite the warmness of the weather, and were busy putting boots and waterproof jackets into the cargo area of the estate. Two minutes later the couple drove out of the garage, closing it by remote control as they left. As the door latch locked into position, several loud bleeps from the setting house alarm disturbed the otherwise peaceful cul-de-sac, the security system being mentally noted by Donaldson. He was reasonably certain where she and her lover were going and he decided not to follow close behind, nor even keep them in sight. Sunday morning in summer was favoured by Cindy to meet up with her gun dog friends at the disused canal and Donaldson assumed that her male friend must be someone from the group. The canal was little more than five miles away so Donaldson drove slowly, arriving a few minutes after Cindy. He could see the Volvo parked alongside others on the scrubland verge and drove past, pulling into a vacant area. He got out of the car and briskly walked back. His military training quickly identified an area where he was able to remain unobserved behind a cluster of very large and dense gorse bushes, but which afforded him a good view of Cindy and the dogs. He was taken by surprise when he witnessed Cindy’s companion shaking hands with everyone, and he could quite distinctly hear the stranger saying how pleased he was to meet the small crowd of handlers. The man looked a little familiar to Donaldson but he couldn’t place him. Puzzled, Donaldson lying prone on his stomach, inched himself forward to a nearer bush, straining to get a better view of the mystery boyfriend.

  The dog training had already started and a small group was standing reasonably near to where Donaldson was hidden, with a second group some distance away. Despite his wealth and large circle of contacts –- obligatory for successful executives in the business world – Gordon had never found it easy to make friends. Usually his perceived status had been a barrier to familiarity with people outside of his work, as all too often the persons he met were either intimidated and stayed almost silent, or would keep making silly references to his wealth and success making Gordon embarrassed and quickly bored. Last night, he had talked to Cindy of his apprehension of going to the gun dog meeting the following day, but she had assured him no one would be the slightest bit interested in who or what he was, provided he liked dogs.

  “Anyway, you had a springer once didn’t you – isn’t that why you named the teaching area Ruraich?”

  “Yes,” said Gordon, “that was some time ago. A liver and white English springer bitch but she was only a pet, not a fully trained working dog, but a lovely temperament. I became so attached to her that when she died of old age I couldn’t quite bring myself to ha
ve another one, although I’ve promised myself that someday I’ll get another.”

  Having effected the introductions at the first group, Cindy started leading Gordon over to the others. Her clear voice carried across the still air to Donaldson.

  “Don, this is Gordon. Gordon, let me introduce you to Don our leader and trainer.” The two shook hands.

  “We’re very pleased to meet you Gordon and welcome. Join in whenever you want or just watch, but we usually could do with a hand throwing the dummies or some such. Cindy will help you out.”

  As Don walked away almost immediately, Cindy turned to Gordon, “See, told you they wouldn’t make a comment. Gun dog people are only interested in the dogs, not the social standing of their owners.”

  The startling revelation as to the identity of Cindy’s new lover struck Donaldson like a bullet between the eyes. “Gordon? Bloody hell! She actually has pulled fuckin’ Truscott, the fuckin’ tycoon. That’s who it is. How the fuck’s she’s managed that?” he said excitably to himself. “Christ, no wonder she doesn’t want that poor sod Crossland.”

  His objective of seeking precise information about Cindy had been achieved beyond his wildest imagination, but it was a very irate Donaldson that went home. There he looked up all he could about Gordon Truscott, and his Scottish home, Mealag Lodge. He was not able to find an exact address but he had the general area, Knoydart, so sometime he would obtain a detailed map and find it on that. His thoughts turned again to Cindy and the recent images he had of her and Truscott. He had always felt slightly uncertain as to why she had decided to move out of Red Gables and to the cottage at Grimley, but it was now clear to him that it was solely as a well-planned subterfuge to deceive her husband until her divorce came through.

  She certainly wouldn’t want him to know she was shagging a multi-millionaire. That might reduce her husband’s pay-out to her, he thought. He expected that Cindy would leave the cottage and move in with Truscott as soon as she could, leaving Donaldson’s own deluded hopes and prospects of making out with Cindy in tatters. He thumped the table again and again.

  “No better than a fucking whore,” he angrily shouted, but no one heard his foul-mouthed outburst. His house had been empty of other occupants since Ludmilla had departed with her foreign friends. His anger did not abate and he flew into an uncontrollable rage – the sort he felt before he attacked the girls in Iraq, but this time there was no early release and the resentment against Cindy burned within him.

  40

  The weather in Lochaber, Highland Region, on Tuesday 1st August, was terrible. Driven by a storm force Atlantic weather system, rain was lashing down onto the hundreds of tourists in Fort William who had flocked into the town and were scurrying in and out of the shops along the pedestrian-only high street. Stooping low against the ferocious wind, and struggling to stay upright, most were quite unsuitably dressed in the flimsy, lightweight showerproof jackets that were adequate for an English summer, but not a Highland one. The sky was an unremitting dark grey, below which a seemingly endless procession of billowing thick clouds were being propelled just above the town’s rooftops. The gloom was more akin to late dusk than mid-morning and the dipped headlights of the cars travelling along the shoreline of Loch Linnhe shone brightly onto the wet, glossy, road. Standing at his second-floor office window, and looking down onto the scene below, was Chief Inspector Keith Maythorp, the Central Region Area Commander of the Scottish Police Northern Constabulary. He was chairing the formal monthly progress meeting with his two immediate subordinates, Area Inspector John Curry (like Maythorp based at Fort William) and Colin MacRae based at Portree, Isle of Skye. Whilst a formal meeting, the three men had known, worked and been friends with each other for over twenty years and none had any aspirations of moving home to take a promotion. The trio recognised the abilities of each other and held a shared belief that living and working in the Highlands was far too precious to be put at risk by petty jealousies and office politics. It made for a comfortable working relationship.

  Maythorp’s command covered a huge geographical area, but had a very sparse population. Crime was generally low, and the main activity for the law enforcers revolved around speeding traffic offences and vehicle accidents in the summer – mostly caused by frustrated motorists unsuccessfully attempting to overtake caravans – or climbers getting into difficulty on the high peaks in winter. There was the odd burglary or vandalism, usually to fund an increasing number of locals who had a drug habit, which broke the monotony, and the odd spot of poaching, but generally there was little trouble. He had a total officer force of only one hundred and two, and that included nearly twenty special constables. Averaged out, he had one officer for every fifty square miles. The monthly review was normally routine and so it was surprising that today there had just been a quite heated discussion over one agenda item, and Maythorp was taking time out to let tempers cool. Northern HQ was based in Inverness, only about seventy-five miles northeast of Fort William, but a world away from Maythorp’s patch in policing priorities and requirements. Inverness suffered in proportionate terms from the same problems as any city in the United Kingdom and Maythorp was frequently under pressure to justify his low detection and prosecution figures, particularly those in relation to drink or drug-related motoring offences. When Maythorp had told his two lieutenants of the contents of a memo he had received from the chief constable at HQ, virtually implying that the three of them had taken their eye off the ball, Curry and MacRae had exploded.

  “What does he want us to do, put a sniffer dog up the exhaust pipe of every lorry going through the Great Glen? Or perhaps Colin here should get the tourists to turn out their pockets before they go across the Skye bridge?” Curry’s normal Highland accent became even more accentuated when excited, and the sarcastic tone of his response had led him to emphasise almost every vowel. Colin MacRae himself was not pleased either.

  “The tourist board are always on at us not to be too hard on motorists, lest it impacts on the number of returning visitors, yet HQ say hammer them because of stupid bloody targets. This job isn’t about policing anymore, it’s about politics and saving the arse of some prick in London or Edinburgh. I haven’t spent my entire career serving this community just to end it by ticking boxes. Bollocks to them, I say. Ignore it Keith.” MacRae never lost an opportunity to remind his boss that after thirty-five years in the force he would be retiring at the end of the year, the proximity of which gave him the confidence to pretty much say what he liked without regard to his future job performance assessment.

  The discussion had raged for about ten minutes when Maythorp called a halt to it, rose from his chair and absentmindedly looked out of the window whilst he thought about what to decide. It was also giving time for everyone to calm down.

  “HQ’s memo doesn’t actually demand a reply, so I will not be sending one,” he said before turning to his secretary.

  “Record in the minutes that we had a lengthy discussion and that Inspectors MacRae and Curry will review the appropriateness of our enforcement strategies in the light of the quarterly results at the end of next month.” Curry and MacRae smiled. They could have a considerably worse boss than Keith Maythorp and for that reason were extremely loyal to him. Maythorp then sat down and picked up the agenda.

  “Finally, gentlemen, under A.O.B there is only one item to discuss. HQ has forwarded to me an advisory note they had received from the Foreign Office in London.” He started to read it through quickly again whilst summarising for his audience.

  “It seems as if next month some people – not named – are going to spend a few days up at Quoich, at the Truscott place. Yes, September. Arriving and departing by chopper. The FO is providing security and our services are unlikely to be required. That’s really all it says.” He placed the communique on his desk and looked up before continuing.

  “It looks as if HQ has been informed only as a courtesy seeing as the Foreign Office is sending some protection officers up there. Naturally, HQ has
passed this onto us. Any comment?”

  MacRae was the first to respond.

  “Mmmm, must be a foreign rock band or celebrity going there on holiday. Can’t be a politician, otherwise the Met and ATU would be swarming all over the place as well as the Geeks. I guess their people will all be armed?”

  Maythorp picked up the note and read it quickly.

  “Doesn’t say, but it would be unusual if they weren’t. Assume yes,” replied Maythorp, “but aren’t we in danger of making a lot of assumptions here? I mean, why are we assuming this is just a couple of people or a pop group, and what about Truscott? Will he be there?

  The room fell silent whilst all three considered what the Commander had said. It was Curry that spoke first.

  “Good point. I suppose it’s possible the place has been hired by the FO itself for an out of the way, private meeting of some sort away from any press, perhaps between ministers of different countries. Truscott wouldn’t need to be there for that.”

  “If that were the case, and it was going to be a pretty large gathering, surely we would need to have been told more, maybe even assist with resourcing. This must be small beer – strange we’ve been told anything at all. But if it’s nothing very much, maybe something would go to HQ beforehand but I wouldn’t have expected that to happen until the day of the meeting, or at least much nearer to it. My money would be it’s a FO course” added MacRae. “Anyway, what are we expected to do?

  “Yes. What about us? Are we asked to do anything?” enquired Curry. “It’s a goddamn awful place to get to if anything goes belly up.”

  Maythorp quickly scanned his eyes over the memo from HQ.

  “No nothing else, which in itself is a bit odd. I should have thought we would be asked to increase patrols or something if it was really important but this note makes no mention of anything at all like that, although the phrase that our services are ‘unlikely to be required’ is pretty vague.”