Reciprosity

  “No. Please no.”

  Virna glanced up at the large display. The fantasy castle in the center of the image glistened in the late northern sunlight. She knew Luke wouldn’t be in Scotland for another ten or eleven hours. That would be sunrise. He would drive from Glasgow Airport to Jamestown where he would stay with a local family that operated a small lake tour and cruise company. He would sleep until noon, eat, then do a daylight reconnaissance of the estate. First, he would take a private cruise on the loch to scout the objective for a possible water extraction. Then he would do the same over land. He would not begin the actual mission until well past dark. Most likely at two o’clock the following morning.

  Virna knew those were his plans. She also knew, as Luke had frequently reminded her, no matter how well you plan, the plan is only as good as its execution.

  * * *

  I parked the Land Cruiser in the lot next to the Loch Lomond Expeditions offices on the River Leven. The drive from Glasgow Airport took thirty minutes after transferring my gear from the GCE jet to my ride. The flight had afforded me ample time to study the architectural and construction plans we obtained from Diamond, and formulate three possible scenarios to accomplish the mission. I shared my strategy with Virna over a long phone conversation. I also transmitted all of the castle plans to her, via Alice. Now, all I needed was agreeable allies willing to provide minor assistance. Nothing dangerous.

  The owners of the expedition services greeted me before I reached the doorway. Rory Calhoun was a big man with a red beard and long red hair tied back with a traditional tartan clan ribbon. That was as far as he was willing to go to honor his Italian-Scottish heritage. No kilt or brogues, or sporran. He was dressed like me. Jeans, denim shirt, hiking boots, windbreaker. Only difference, mine was mostly browns, his was mostly the colors of his clan. Reds and greens and blues. The stunning redhead standing beside him made my heart leap and my mind race backwards to the first time I watched Maureen O’Hara in The Quiet Man with John Wayne. Only difference, that took place in Ireland. She was dressed in a matching black wool sweater and skirt with black leggings and knee-high boots.

  Rory held out a giant paw of a hand. “Welcome to Scotland, cousin Luke. This is my better half, Aila.”

  “My pleasure,” I replied.

  Aila took my hand and led me to the offices. “We have rooms over the business. Let’s get inside before the blasted sky opens again. Rory, bring Luke’s gear.”

  “Yes, dear.”

  I estimated Rory to be in his forties and Aila to be in her thirties. Vittorio had briefed me on the flight by phone about their background and relationship to the family. Rory’s mother was a Cassine, transplanted to Scotland after she met his future father on a summer vacation. Rory was the first of three Italian-Scottish sons. Aila was a tenth generation Clan Calhoun. A tenth cousin to Rory, and the oldest daughter in a family of four boys and three girls. Rory and Aila had both served in the British army. Rory in a combat unit in Iraq. Aila in an intelligence unit, also in Iraq. They were childless due to an injury Rory suffered on a routine patrol. They had been exploring In Vitro Fertilization and adoption options when Vittorio had contacted them. In return for their assistance, all expenses would be paid and a trust fund would be set up for their first child.

  Aila led me up the narrow stairs to a small bedroom that smelled of fresh paint. “I’m sorry it smells. We’re getting it ready for...” she blushed, “I know it’s premature.”

  I placed a reassuring hand on her back. “This will do just fine. I wish you and Rory all the luck.”

  Aila turned to face me. “Luke, is this dangerous? Why you’re here I mean. It’s an awful lot of money for a bedroom and a boat ride.”

  Smart woman. It was obvious why she served in an intelligence unit. I wasn’t about to lie to her so I smiled. “Let me sleep until noon then I’ll tell you both what my plans are over lunch. How’s that sound?”

  She nodded just as Rory came up the stairs lugging my toolkit and duffle bag.

  He placed them in my room and said, “You travel light.” Then he winked, “I have a case just like that down in the basement.”

  I doubted it was just like mine, but I repeated what I had just told Aila about sleep and then an explanation over lunch. Then I had a thought. “What about your business? Do you have tours or cruises scheduled over the next twenty-four hours?”

  Rory ignored my question and jumped to the correct conclusion and whistled. “That’s a mighty quick turnaround. Is it a night mission?”

  “Sightseeing.” I stepped into the room and started to close the door. “Lunchtime.” Then I closed it.

  I slept a solid six hours. Put the cloths I arrived in back on, and checked my phone for calls and texts. There were two messages from Ray that could wait. Something to do with the Feds needing to talk to me as he predicted. A message from Vittorio confirming return flight arrangements and schedules. And a half-dozen sexually suggestive messages from Virna, accompanied by closeups of various body parts. The last one read, Just reminding you what you will miss if you go and get your ass shot off. I messaged back, Would you believe Aila looks just like Maureen O’Hara. Red hair and all.

  I turned off the phone so I wouldn’t have to read Virna’s response about redheads and headed down the hallway toward what I assumed would be the Calhoun family rooms. Rory was sitting on a couch watching a fishing program on TV. I could hear Aila in the kitchen clanging pots and pans and singing. Whatever she was preparing it smelled wonderful.

  Rory switched off the TV when he saw me. “Take a load off.”

  I said, “That’s a very American colloquialism.”

  “I know. Aila says I watch too many American programs. Sleep okay?”

  “Like a baby. What’s for lunch? Smells wonderful.”

  “Haggis. Her mother’s recipe. Why do you think I’m so fat?”

  “You’re not fat, just large. What is haggis?”

  “Meat pudding, tatties—mashed potatoes to you, turnips or neeps as we say, and whisky sauce. She insisted on doing something special. I told her to go easy on the whisky since this was lunch, not supper.”

  There was a table in the kitchen just big enough for the three of us if we didn’t mind bumping elbows. The meal was excellent. The conversation congenial and friendly. I asked about the weather and Rory said it was clearing for the next four or five hours, then another front would be pushing through. We talked about family. I told them about Virna, how we met and so on. I gave them a little taste of my background, army and otherwise. When we ran out of small talk I told them why I was there.

  When I was finished they looked at each other, smiled, and Aila said, “Get the boat ready, babe. We’re going sightseeing.”

  I asked, “How come you guys are so gung-ho?”

  Aila answered first. “That castle and the Christoph family have been a blight on this region for centuries. You won’t find a soul around these parts that would give a brass farthing for your ex-president. In fact, I could name a dozen families who have suffered at the hands of the Christoph family. Fucking Germans—pardon my French. The only reason the Christoph name is still on that bloody castle is because they sided with King Edward I of England against Robert the Bruce and William Wallace in the wars for Scottish independence in the thirteenth and fourteenth centuries.”

  Rory patted her hand to calm her fiery tone. “For centuries our clans have fought and bled to rid us of the Scottish traitors. And now you come along and offer us a reckoning to do just that. Please tell us how we can help. Do you need men?”

  Aila jumped in. “My brothers will help, and there are men in this town that have a direct bloodline to Wallace.”

  I had fallen in with a bunch of ready-made rebels. Could I be any luckier? I asked, “Have you heard of or seen anyone wearing a signet ring on their left index finger? It would...”

  “Look like a bird flying through a circle.” Aila broke in. “Gold and silver?”

  “Yes. An eagl
e, actually. They call themselves Guardian Eagles. In german it’s...”

  Aila again finished my statement, “Wächteradler. Yes, we’ve heard rumors, all the way back to World War II. My grandfather on my mother’s side, Malcolm Stuart Munro, worked near Loch Duich then. He use to tell stories about Nazis in Scotland and a sunken German aircraft at the bottom of the loch.”

  Rory added, “Practically everyone who works at the castle wears one of those rings. Why is this important?”

  I said, “The Guardian Eagles are Christoph’s private army. I met two of them on a flight to Italy. Two days ago they raided Vittorio’s winery estate. They killed over forty men, women and children. And they blew up Vittorio’s home.”

  “Màthair naomh Dhè,” Aila hissed.

  I took that as a Scottish curse. “Do you have a printer?”

  Rory looked puzzled for a moment then said, “Ah, you mean from a computer file. Absolutely. How large do you want to print? We can do poster size.” he used his hands to demonstrate dimensions that looked to be twenty by thirty inches.

  I said, “Wait here.”

  Sixty seconds later I returned from my room with my iPad. I quickly found the images I had bookmarked and pushed the tablet under his nose. “Those images.”

  “No problem. I’ll do it right now while Aila clears the dishes.”

  The boat we were on was a Nord Star 28. Rory explained that they’re often used as patrol boats on the loch. It was blue and white. Thirty or so feet from bow to stern with two double cabins. Teak timbers. A full walk-around deck, and powered by a 370HP engine. Rory said it was the smallest tour boat they had and usually reserved for private rental. Their larger cruise boats carried thirty passengers plus crew, and both of them were out on the loch. Aila was piloting, zigzagging between a fleet of private sailboats, toward our destination. Rory continued his lecture on the loch. It was twenty-miles long, five at its widest, and five-hundred feet at its deepest. We were heading toward a spit of land below Conic Hill, right on a major fault line that separates the Scottish lowlands from the highlands.

  As Aila slowed our approach I could easily see Castle Christoph high on what Rory said was called Christoph Ridge. The western face of the castle had an unobstructed view of Loch Lomond—Lake of the Elms. Rory described it as a Scots Baronial style.

  I added, “Disney meets the French Renaissance with a big dash of Fractured Fairy Tales.” The resemblance was obvious.

  Rory laughed. “I love Rocky and Bullwinkle. I have the whole series on DVD.”

  “Me too.”

  We both laughed and began imitating the two cartoon characters until Aila said, “Settle down, children. And wipe your face, dear.”

  Rory wiped some spit from his beard before continuing his description of the castle. “The locals call the estate The Elms. The name dates back to the 1800s when their forefathers were forced to transplant hundreds of wych elm trees to make room for the renovations and expansions. They tell a legend that the castle would collapse and kill the Christophs the year the oldest elm died. That would be this year, Luke.”

  Aila cut the engine and joined Rory and me. We all had binoculars hanging around our necks and we began our reconnaissance.

  It would be impossible to climb the two-hundred foot west cliff facing the water. Even though it had a slight slope the ground was littered with boulders and trees. The land north and south of the castle was densely wooded with the elms Rory had mentioned. I couldn’t see the land on the east approach, but Rory confirmed what I had seen using Google Earth.

  “There are large open swaths of farmland and hedgerows leading up to the main entrance. The road cuts through in a pretty straight line from the B837 highway. A few clusters of trees—and lots of tourists hiking the trails up and down Conic Hill. They aren’t allowed on the estate but they have a grand view from the hill.”

  I looked at my watch, then took out my phone and dialed Virna. I put it on speaker and set it down on a seat so we could conference.

  “Ready for act one?” she asked.

  I said, “Meet Rory and Aila. Our new best friends.”

  They said hello.

  Virna said, “Hi and take good care of my man.”

  I held my iPad Pro out so Aila and Rory could see it. I tapped a key and the screen lit up with a real-time view of castle Christoph. The angle was from almost overhead, looking eastward. Virna was controlling the satellite from Lugano, eleven-hundred miles away.

  For the next twenty minutes we zoomed in and out, watched Christoph’s people patrolling the grounds. Looked through the western windows. Watched people through walls using infrared. And then—bingo—Looking Glass went to work.

  Virna said, “Okay, this view is from that mirror you-know-who arranged to be sent to Christoph.”

  We were staring at a large, oak-paneled study, with club chairs, reading lamps and lots of bookcases. The room was empty. I could sense my new friends were wanting to know how this was possible, but they remained silent.

  Then the scene changed. “This view is not super clear,” Virna announced, “because it’s one of those, what do you call it, reflective imagery via enhanced photonic–plasmonic nano-something or other from an upper floor window. You can see someone’s legs. Sitting down I think. But we do have some audio. Hang on, Alice is trying to clean it up.”

  We could hear a small female voice in the background. “Not trying, am cleaning it up,” Alice corrected.

  Then we heard the man. Christoph was talking to someone. “I don’t care. I dismissed the detail. I have my own people, so please recall them. They are no longer welcome. And don’t call me again. Understand.”

  I said, “He’s dismissing his Secret Service detail.”

  Virna agreed and switched from Looking Glass to one of the other cameras. “Alice is repositioning for an eastern view.”

  Thirty seconds passed.

  “There they go,” she said and zoomed in as four men climbed into a black SUV and drove away.

  “Was Alice able to convert those building plans I sent into 3D?” I asked.

  “Yea, just tap that symbol in the upper left that says 3D. Alice says she is tagging all of the humans on the estate, so just refer to them by number. The target is zero.”

  I tapped the 3D symbol and the screen switched to a rotatable 3D wireframe view of the castle and grounds. The wireframe was subtlety shaded to reduce the clutter of outlines. The floors were color-coded. Green for ground level. Shades of blue for upper floors. And red for sub-basements, and something I didn’t expect because it wasn’t on any of the plans Diamond provided. A massive cavern beneath the entire ridge.

  “What’s this below the basement?” I asked.

  Virna said, “According to Alice, LG is equipped with a highly classified ground penetrating radar and IR system. She says she can map down to three-hundred feet, and can acquire and tag human signatures in real time. She said Thomas called it TAG after the children’s game. He called the TAG’ed signatures players.”

  I smiled. LG was Virna’s coy way of talking about Looking Glass in front of strangers. We all watched as numbers started popping up on the 3D rendering. When Alice was finished tagging all the players the count stood at eighteen red dots plus number zero in yellow.

  Rory answered my earlier question about the mysterious space below the basement. “Remember, this lake crosses the Highland Boundary Fault. We have about twenty minor tremors a year. But in 1931, East Anglia had a magnitude 6.1. That was on the east coast of England, but it really shook this area, and particularly Castle Christoph. That’s when they discovered the centuries old caverns running under the ridge, all the way back toward Conic Hill.

  Aila directed my attention to the footpath along the water’s edge. I put the tablet down and focused my binocular where she was pointing.

  “See that footbridge spanning a large gap in the shoreline? That gap was caused by the earthquake, and at high tide it floods.”

  Rory added, “There used
to be a cave entrance that led into the cavern. That was how workers, in 1931, were able to get in and build a massive support system to shore up the walls and ceilings of the cavern so the ridge, along with Castle Christoph didn’t collapse into the loch.”

  “Your’e kidding?”

  “No. The cave opening collapsed in 1959. There’s only a narrow crevice now. Barely wide enough for a man to squeeze through. Only a few of us locals know about it and we keep it that way so kids and tourists don’t get trapped or injured.”

  “But here’s the really interesting thing,” Aila added. “Back in 1931, the workers discovered old wooden scaffolding and stairs leading up to a tunnel near the cavern ceiling. It led to a door, which they forced open. They discovered they were standing in an old wine cellar in the castle basement. They also found evidence in the cavern that suggested it was once used by the British during the revolt of 1745.”

  A new strategy was forming in my head. “Is it still there, the stairs and doorway?”

  “No,” said Rory.

  His single word deflated my grandiose plan. But only for a second.

  “Not the old wooden structure. It was beyond repair. The castle was evacuated after the thirty-one quake. The caretaker allowed the construction crew to build a new stairwell using elm timbers from the estate forest. Having access to the cavern from below and above made the shoring up of the cavern a lot easier and faster. The stairs and door access are still there. I doubt Christoph even knows or remembers it’s there.”

  I suddenly remembered Virna was still on the line. “Did you get all that, sweetheart?”

  “You bet. Alice is tasking LG to do a more detailed scan of the castle and subsurfaces. She says give her an hour or two.”

  I turned to Aila. “How close in can you take this boat?”

  “About ten meters from shore. Why?”

  “Do you have a waterproof flashlight on board?”

  Rory and Aila looked at each other and then at me. “Are you crazy?” they each said.