by Alan G Boyes
After a few brief moments Cindy said, “Come on. We must get dressed and warn the others.”
She picked up the phone, but the line was dead. She then hit the panic alarm, but that too failed to sound.
“Damn. Everything has been knocked out, Paulette. We’ll have to go across the loch.”
The two had never dressed themselves so quickly. In less than five minutes, Paulette appeared in practical blue jeans and a green sweater having washed away most of the spattered blood from her hair, face and body. Likewise, Cindy had dashed under the shower to thoroughly cleanse her body of Donaldson’s odour and removed all traces of his unwelcome intrusion into her body. She too donned a pair of blue jeans, but her top was a hand knitted roll-neck yellow jumper given to her by Mrs MacLean.
They grabbed their anoraks and boots and rushed outside towards the jetty, giving only a momentary glance at the obviously fatally wounded protection officer, as they ran passed by his body.
When they saw that the boat had gone, Cindy called out to Paulette, “Come on, follow me, but don’t stray from my footmarks.”
She started running towards the dam, making sure that Paulette was closely behind her and staying on the solid ground. As the women rounded the knoll, they were startled by the sight of Donaldson, still alive, and up to his shoulders in the peat bog.
“Help me, Cindy. Please help. I can’t move,” he wailed weakly.
The pressure on Donaldson’s body exerted by the heavy, wet peat had slowed his bleeding, but he was surely and steadily sinking into the deep morass.
“You bloody bastard. That marsh will be your slimy grave. You’ll die there and I hope you sink very, very slowly and go to hell.” Cindy’s anger exploded into venom as she shouted out the words.
“Are you sure he will die, Cindy? He will drown won’t he?” Paulette asked nervously.
“Yes. Absolutely, he will.”
“Cindy, please. You can’t do this. Surely you can’t leave me to die, helpless like this?” but Cindy was already hastening onwards to the dam.
“If you won’t help, then can you at least tell the police to come and rescue me? Please.” Donaldson was desperate. Even the act of talking slightly disturbed the peat enveloping him and had made him sink a further inch.
Cindy turned and shouted, “Jack. I’ll give you some good advice. Give that tiny dick you think so much of a rub from me. You’ll drown quicker, you bastard.” Cindy could not resist mocking the helpless Donaldson and laughed out loud as his face visibly reddened in silent fury.
They reached the dam wall and had just started to run across when the Land Rover, parked on the road opposite them revved up and sped away towards Kinloch Hourn.
“Was that them, Cindy? Did you see Dean or Gordon?”
“I couldn’t tell who it was. It might have been the woman or whoever she is with, but it’s been a long time since she left us.”
A loud regular thudding noise caused them to stop running and to look back across the loch towards the lodge. A small helicopter flying very low and with POLICE markings clearly visible came into view. The women waved their arms excitedly and as the helicopter turned west, the male pilot waved back. He was already transmitting on his radio that he had spotted two females on the dam wall waving at him and that all appeared normal. He was accustomed to members of the public gesturing and signalling as he flew low; there was nothing unusual about it, and a couple of women on their own walking across the dam wall did not arouse his suspicion. Several seconds later, he received information that the dam wall was supposed to be guarded and that no one should therefore be able to walk across it. He was ordered to return to base, the full realisation of the possible consequences of the rushed deployment of the helicopter pilot having become apparent to everyone at Bronze, Silver and Gold commands. It was too late. Immediately after receiving the message, the inadequately briefed pilot began to turn the helicopter around when he spotted a Land Rover travelling along the road. He throttled back, trying to keep the vehicle in view, and reached for the radio switch. Fadyar had noticed the helicopter as it crossed the dam and asked Mattar to stop. She gathered and loaded her trusted rifle, lowered the window and took aim, just as the pilot was about to report. Two massive thuds rocked the helicopter, tearing its skin apart. Fadyar had deliberately aimed her first bullet at the engine block, which on impact shattered into several pieces before exploding, flinging blackened shards of metal in all directions that fell to the ground like confetti thrown at a wedding. The second bullet was aimed at the cockpit. It missed the pilot but ripped through the electronics and short-circuited all the electrics.
The pilot’s only words that he managed to relay before the inevitable crash were “I’m hit. Vehicle… ”
Devoid of power and leaving a thick black smoke trail, the helicopter spiralled wildly downwards hitting the loch. Large chunks of aluminium, steel and plastic were thrown into the air as the impact broke the helicopter apart. What was left, disappeared into the depths of the loch within seconds, the pilot still strapped to his seat as the water gushed over him. The early loss of a police helicopter and pilot in such inauspicious circumstances forced Maythorp to call Curry and order him to await Ritson’s arrival before embarking on any further major initiatives. He should continue to deploy his resources, but unless forced he should not take precipitate action to engage the terrorists until Silver had sufficient intelligence and an adequate plan. Curry’s impatience at not awaiting a specialist helicopter to be readied for action, allied with the totally inadequate briefing given to the pilot, had clearly played a major part in what was already being regarded as the unnecessary death of a police officer.
Cindy and Paulette saw the downing of the helicopter. For a few seconds neither spoke, the realisation of the gravity of their situation and that of their respective partners temporarily silencing them. They reached the road and looked about them. Seeing nothing, Cindy said “They cannot all be in the Land Rover, there isn’t room. Perhaps some are injured up the hill. Come on.”
She started walking and it was not long before they came across the macabre aftermath of the Mattar and Bagheri attack. Blood and body tissue was strewn in a roughly-shaped circle in the centre of which was a dead deer, its feet still neatly bound to a wooden pole but whose flesh had been torn to shreds in parts. The sight resembled more some sort of ritual killing than a kidnap. Cindy searched for Gordon and burst into tears when she spotted him prone on the ground, but at least not cut to pieces by a grenade or high velocity bullets. She ran and cradled him in her arms. Gordon started to mumble incoherently as he recovered consciousness and Cindy burst out, “You’re alive. Darling, you’re alive,” and hugged him closer.
“They have taken Dean. He isn’t here.” It was a tearful Paulette that focused Cindy’s mind back to the general situation. As Gordon recovered, he confirmed he must have been knocked out by the blast but he was otherwise unhurt. He quickly surveyed the carnage that lay spread on the ground before them and reflected how in an instant lives and circumstances change. A few moments earlier he had been talking and laughing with the two CIA agents both of whom now lay dead, mown down by fanatics intent on taking hostage his friend Dean Assiter. By nature Gordon was not easily angered, but he was now furious at the outrage that had been committed upon them all.
“Gather up the agents sub-machine guns and all magazines; we have to go after whoever did this. I know it’s not pleasant, but we must do it.” He spoke firmly, assuredly confident that he was doing the right thing.
As they hastened down the hill, Cindy tried to tell Gordon all that had happened but skirted over the trouble with Donaldson.
“I’ll tell you more of that later,” she said to him. “How can we rescue Dean?” Gordon did not reply. Instead, overloaded with miscellaneous thoughts, he asked a question of his own, “Did you not raise the alarm?” Gordon asked.
“Everything was severed at the house, nothing worked.” Cindy replied.
“What about
the garages? Have you been there? That alarm is on a different circuit.”
“God, I’m sorry. I forgot. No, I was so worried about finding you, but a Police helicopter came over and has just been shot down, so they know something is happening here.”
They exchanged more information as they headed off the hill towards the garages. As soon as they were inside, Gordon triggered the alarm. The warning was received at both Fort Augustus and Fort William and less than a minute later the scribes in Gold, Silver and Bronze command centres were logging their whiteboards, noting the time and location of the alarm. The Home Secretary and COBR were informed, the alarm being regarded by Gold as a highly significant development.
“Cindy, are you quite sure they headed towards Kinloch Hourn?” Gordon queried.
“Positive.”
“In that case, we must go too. The police will wait at the main A87 junction and travel slowly towards the dam expecting to run headlong into the terrorists. They will not be expecting them to go to Kinloch Hourn. They must have a boat there.”
As he spoke, he pressed furiously at the digits on his mobile phone, before putting it back into his pocket. “Damn these mobiles. That’s another reason to go West. There’s a signal at the coast.”
Gordon knew that taking a vehicle from the garages and then driving along the tortuous Kinloch Hourn road would necessitate him having to drive slowly. As the road wound its way around the bases of several large mountains, it was also a considerably longer route than going straight down the loch itself. The three ran to the small jetty where the boats were tied up.
“Take the mini cruiser, its faster” yelled Gordon.
They jumped aboard and Gordon pushed the accelerator lever fully forward once he had reversed out into safe water. The engine roared as the throttle widened and the small boat’s bow rose up causing a large wake to spread across the loch, scattering the few black-headed divers that were patiently waiting for their meal of a small trout or eel to swim by beneath them.
73
Maythorp and Curry had been discussing the tactical situation. A substantial amount of equipment had already arrived or was nearing its deployment at the hotel. The full complement of electronic resources they required was at least twenty minutes away and it would be some considerable while before the substantial reinforcements of men arrived. However, a lot of equipment was now on site and being installed. The TSG would have to travel from Glasgow and possibly Edinburgh, but the commanders agreed to send two police vehicles, each with four fully armed officers, to drive slowly along the Kinloch Hourn road, keeping one hundred metres apart, until they reached the dam. The convoy was given orders that if the terrorists had not been intercepted they were to set up a road block whilst three officers secured the dam wall access. They were not permitted to cross the dam to the lodge. One vehicle only was permitted to drive slowly along the road towards Kinloch Hourn, but not to intercept or engage the targets unless it was to protect themselves. If they saw anything they were to stay at a safe distance and report it. Another two vehicles of four armed officers each were despatched urgently to enter Mealag Lodge by the Arkaig entrance. There were to be no heroics. If the lodge was occupied by terrorists they were to report back and retreat, setting up road blocks to prevent escape. An ESU unit was readied to be sent to the lodge in case the terrorists were holed up there. If it was unoccupied, and the entire complex could be safely secured, the helipad was to be made ready for a specially equipped helicopter.
Eagles Rest now scarcely resembled a hostelry. Various assorted vehicles, cars, vans and trucks were steadily arriving. One disgorged twelve specially trained and well-armed officers whilst another carried a vast amount of weird looking electronic equipment. Two satellite dishes had been erected; one, a couple of metres high, was affixed to a pole that had been rather unceremoniously banged into the lovingly manicured lawn. The other sat aloft an innocuous looking van, which was slowly making its way around the car park. Inside the hotel, perched in front of a box of electronics that included a monitor from which a green light glowed brightly, was an operative waiting to pick up the signal from the van. As soon he did so, he called out “OK” and the van stopped.
“Full comms and video working whenever it’s needed,” the operative called out; his message logged and timed, noted by Curry and Maythorp, as it was written up in front of them. Maythorp had also requested a police launch, with armed officers, be sent by sea towards Kinloch Hourn. He was informed it was berthed at Arisaig, where a couple of nights before it had been used to intercept a minor drug running operation organised by local youths from the mainland and the Isle of Skye. The boat was presently moored at least twenty miles away from Kinloch Hourn and its crew of officers were now in Glasgow having escorted the miscreants there the previous day and was therefore discounted by Curry and Maythorp as offering viable assistance. However, as a further precaution the Royal Navy fisheries protection vessel, currently patrolling off the Isle of Rhum, was placed on alert in case the terrorists had a powerful sea going boat moored offshore near Kinloch Hourn. On receiving the signal, Captain Harris of HMS Varsity immediately ordered a change of direction and full speed.
Gold command agreed with Silver that the Special Air Service (SAS) at Hereford be put on alert and provided with all maps and drawings of Mealag Lodge, the estate and surroundings, just in case a serious hostage situation developed there and needed their expertise and intervention. The receiving stations at Menwith Hill and Morwenstow, plus personnel at GCHQ, were tasked with two immediate specific roles. One was to intercept all telephone traffic, electronic signal or other communication emanating from an area of twenty-five square kilometres from grid reference NH0701502488 and to also search their archives for any intercepts as and when names or details became known as the incident unfolded. The significance of the alarm triggered at the garages was actively being considered by several advisers within Silver command, who were liaising by telephone with Curry’s deputy at Bronze. The benefit of such a command structure is that calm, rational evaluation leading to better judgement can be made by persons distanced from the pressures of operational minute-by-minute decision taking. Additionally, by virtue of being more remote Silver was totally free of bias and not influenced by the high levels of adrenalin surging through Bronze’s veins. Curry was passed a note. On it was Silver’s assessment of the current position:-
The alarm proves at least one person is alive.
That person is likely to be an occupant of Mealag Lodge.
The two women seen on the dam wall should be found. Their identities are probably that of Paulette Assiter and Cindy Crossland.
Highly improbable any terrorists are in the vicinity of the garages.
Silver recommend early deployment to garages.
If garages are secured and no visible sign of terrorists consider using any boats at jetty to cross to Mealag Lodge, or use the dam.
Curry read the note and immediately ordered the vehicles slowly making their way to the dam to increase speed and to go to the garages and report. He glanced at the white-board slightly to his left and read the constantly updated status of his resources and their deployment. Directly in front of him was a projected map of the area on which markers had been placed for ease of visually identifying where those resources were located, and at some point, when known, would show where the terrorists were. A computer operator had responsibility for the map generation and projection, electronics having superseded the once laborious manual task. Curry checked the location of the road blocks. He would like to have more but with his current manpower, that was simply not possible. The Bronze commander felt he ought to be doing something, anything, and subconsciously began to whistle a favourite tune whilst he waited for more information.
74
The weather continued to slowly deteriorate. The cloud thickened and Mattar, driving in and out of the mist, had to use the intermittent setting on his windscreen wipers to maintain his visibility. He was about to embark on th
e most hazardous road journey he had ever undertaken and he, and his compatriots, were fully aware of the danger they faced. He had driven as fast as he was able on the winding road and reached a point where a mile-long finger of the loch passed under a road bridge. This pushed due north whilst the main loch continued its vast spread west towards Kinloch Hourn. Just past the bridge, he swung the vehicle hard right and off the road, progressing along a track that followed the contours of the long inlet. After a few minutes, he turned sharply left and started to climb the massive and dangerous Sgurr a Mhoaraich mountain.
He momentarily stopped the vehicle and engaged four-wheel drive and the low ratio setting for the gears. The powerful Land Rover had made this journey once before, but then Mattar was the only occupant. He was not concerned as to whether the vehicle could climb the unmarked track – he knew it had sufficient power, but he was worried about the grip of the tyres on the uneven, wet grass that was littered with scree and boulders washed down by the torrential rains of numerous winters. The passage, since to describe it as a track was a gross overstatement of its quality, had shown no signs of it having been used for decades and it was only his sharp eyes on their reconnaissance earlier in the year that noticed the slight indentation that ran along the middle of the mountain. At some time, but probably not for a hundred years and never by a vehicle other than Mattar’s, the pathway had been used, but Mattar had no time to speculate upon why. At times, the nearside tyres came close to slipping off the edge, and at others it took all his skill to steer the vehicle around the rocks without making heavy contact with the mountain on his offside. As it was, the additional people in the vehicle and full fuel load had made it heavier and therefore slightly compressed its tough suspension system and he regretted not ensuring they had hired a vehicle that had been fitted with an axle clearance height adjustment. At times the sound of rocks hitting the underside of the vehicle alarmed him, but he did not let his fear show. The engine and low gears made a deafening noise inside the Land Rover as it ground its way onwards across the face of the mountain; going in and out of cloud with Mattar wildly turning the steering wheel full lock one way and then the other. The tyres spun, slipped and created deep channels of mud but somehow Mattar kept the vehicle going forward, even if it was haphazardly so at times. It was a highly accomplished piece of true off-road driving and in other circumstances would have been much admired and no doubt earned him, and his tough vehicle, well-deserved accolades. As it was no one, other than his silent and ashen-faced passengers, was a witness to his prowess. Or so he thought.