Raven, James

by Brutal Revenge

  He also realized something else that evening. It was that Maclean had strong feelings for Bella. Feelings he was still coming to terms with no doubt. He treated her with total respect and it was also apparent that he was making a conscious effort not to swear in front of her.

  Just after ten they decided to call it a day as nobody wanted to wind up drunk. They all retired to their rooms — Bella with Maclean — and it was arranged that they would meet again the next day to look over the cruiser and finalize the plan for relieving the islanders of their new-found wealth.

  SEVEN

  Maclean did not find it easy to go to sleep. Even though he'd exhausted himself by trying to keep pace with Bella, in what had been a rather frantic encounter between two people with an animal craving for each other's flesh, his mind simply refused to be influenced by his weary body. He felt troubled slightly and he couldn't explain the feeling.

  Next to him Bella slept fitfully, her long dark hair flung across her chest, her pink pouting lips soft against his left nipple and her breath warm against his skin.

  He felt sure she had made a good impression with the guys. She had come across as sincere and committed and very much in love with him. It was a relief for sure, because he had feared that her involvement might have frightened off the ever-cautious Parker.

  His mind flashed back through the years and he recalled how he had fancied her something rotten when they were young. She’d been one of only a handful of girls on the island at that time in his own age group. Furthermore, she was the only one who had ever shown any interest in him.

  He thought about that unforgettable day all those years ago when she’d struck up an acquaintance with him. She had sat next to him at the back of the only classroom in that tiny island school. At the time, the teacher, an old spinster type with a deep masculine voice, was going on about the history of the islands and trying to instill in their naive minds an appreciation of an ancient culture which even then was in danger of dying out.

  Quite out of the blue, Bella, who at fourteen was a freckle-faced kid with a brace on her teeth, placed her right hand in his lap. The gesture caught him completely by surprise. He drew breath sharply, and noisily, causing a few heads to turn.

  Bemused and extremely embarrassed, he had simply sat there, the lower half of his body completely numbed by the delightful sensation her hand provoked in his loins. And his face had burned fiercely.

  Slowly, and with what he thought must be a practiced hand, she had unzipped him and moved her cold fingers inside his trousers. And he had moaned softly and stared ahead, his mind far removed from the teacher's ramblings. This, he remembered himself thinking at the time, was like nothing else on earth.

  She kept her hand there for a full minute and in spite of herself she failed to suppress a giggle when an orgasm caused his knees to shake uncontrollably and the desk to wobble on top of them.

  In the months that followed, she pestered him as girls tend to pester the boy they idolize. And, as was only natural, he took advantage of the situation. They eventually became a couple and when he left the island she was devastated. They stayed in touch for a while. She would write to him and he’d phone occasionally. They even had a few wild weekends in Oban, but eight years ago they’d stopped contacting each other. Or rather he had stopped answering her calls and responding to her letters. He’d become too busy and had got involved with another woman.

  When Bella learned that he was returning to the island she made a point of being there to welcome him when he got off the ferry. It was rather a poignant reunion and seeing her brought a lump to his throat. What’s more he was dumbstruck by the fact that she was still single and living alone.

  She was as beautiful as she had always been, with dark brown eyes, high cheekbones and a sensuous mouth.

  On the day they were reunited she invited him to her home for a meal. And bombarded him with questions. Was he married? Did he have a serious girlfriend? Any children? Pets? What were his plans for the future? Why had he not stayed in touch? Had he missed her?

  Much to his surprise he thoroughly enjoyed the evening. And he had enjoyed answering questions, even the difficult ones. They’d made him feel special. And wanted.

  The next day they went for a walk together on the beach and held hands for the first time in years. The day after they made love in the sand dunes. They came together twice and the experience was one that he would savour for the rest of his life. He had never before felt so turned on. So alive. And so comfortable in a woman’s arms.

  And that was when he realized that his feelings for her were still strong and that he had been a fool to leave her when he did.

  He’d never been married himself and his last serious relationship had ended two years ago. Loneliness had crept up on him without him even realizing it and recently he’d begun to view the future with trepidation.

  But the fact that Bella still carried a torch for him after all this time convinced him that she was indeed someone special. Someone he should hold on to now that she had come back into his life.

  It was that realization that had prompted him to tell her about his audacious plans for the treasure. If she had declined to go along with it then he would have dropped the idea and continued to work with the islanders. But she’d been intrigued and excited at the prospect of a life far removed from the one that she was bored with. And so she’d agreed to help him and that meant there could be no going back on the promises he had made her.

  She stirred suddenly beside him and her eyes flickered open. She must have sensed that he was awake.

  “Are you no asleep, Andy?” she whispered.

  “I'm thinking, love.”

  She looked up at him, her liquid green eyes searching his face.

  “Is it about this thing you’re going to do?” she asked.

  “No. About us. You and me.”

  Her eyes opened wider. She pushed herself up on one elbow. Her voice was pleading. “Promise me we'll be together afterwards, Andy. Promise me. Please.”

  Without hesitation he smiled, nodding. “I promise, love. Don't you worry. I’ll never leave you again.”

  “You’d better not,” she said. “I won’t ever be able to come back.”

  “You won’t have to,” he said reassuringly. “From now on your life is with me. We’ll go far away from here. We’ll get married and have kids. And we’ll make up for all those lost years.”

  Bella snuggled up to him, her flesh soft and warm and he suddenly realized that he was already rich even before he got his hands on his share of the loot.

  EIGHT

  For once the weather forecasters had been right with their prediction and the evening of the sixteenth was fine. The sky was spotless and the sun strong enough even to penetrate the cold winter atmosphere. Its glow was reflected in a placid sea that looked warm enough to swim in but wasn't. It was a day to delight the sailor. There was a nippy breeze and a gentle swell.

  As they cleared Oban harbour, the twin-diesels thudding powerfully beneath them, Stewart was overcome by a feeling of exhilaration. It was a long time since he'd been at the helm of such a fine and expensive craft and he was determined to enjoy the experience even though the object of their mission weighed heavily on his mind.

  He was always nervous just before a blag, but he knew that was a good thing. Only fools went into these things with their heads in the clouds.

  He reminded himself again of the prize. According to Maclean the treasure was worth millions. So he was banking on his share being more than enough to retire on.

  He’d buy that gleaming Princess he had always dreamed of owning someday. Then maybe he’d fuck off to the Med and start a charter business. Or maybe not. Maybe he’d just sit by the pool all day knocking back fancy cocktails.

  “Enjoying yourself?” Parker's voice startled him. He'd been miles away.

  “She's a dilly,” he said, with a boyish grin. “Always wanted one like her myself.”

  “But could never affor
d her,” Parker said. “I know. I've heard it all before.”

  Stewart took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and offered one to Parker. They had difficulty lighting them, but managed finally to succeed by cupping their hands around the lighter's flame.

  At that moment a gull fluttered down and perched expectantly on the bow. When it realized nothing was being offered, it flew off again, squawking angrily.

  “When you reckon we'll get there?” Parker asked.

  Stewart drew deeply on his cigarette. The smoke that rose from his lungs was dispersed in a flash by the wind.

  “Mac wants us in after dark, so there's no hurry,” he said. “We should be there in another hour or so. Just after seven probably.”

  They had already decided this would be the best time to go in as it would be high tide and they could get close to the jetty provided it wasn't too rough. If it did knock up a bit they'd have to anchor offshore and approach the jetty in the dinghy.

  Parker said, “Foresee any problems with this one, Bob?”

  Stewart pondered the question. “Not unless The Cowboy gets trigger happy,” he said.

  Parker frowned. “You think he might?”

  “It's happened before,” Stewart said. “I thought Mac might have had more sense than to bring him in on this one.”

  “Why did he?”

  “Well, apart from the fact that they've done some jobs together, I suppose he figures Hodge to be a good man.” He glanced at the cabin door to make sure it wasn't open so Hodge could hear him. “Don't get me wrong, though. I'm not saying he's some kind of prize prick. It's just that it doesn't take much to make him out someone. Not that I don't hold with killing when it's necessary, you understand. But you know what I mean. He's liable to noise things up by shooting at anything that moves.”

  It hadn't occurred to Parker that Stewart might also be a bit wary of Hodge, but he was glad in a way. At least it meant that Stewart would also be making sure that the man they called The Cowboy didn't try to live up to his reputation.

  “Have you worked with him before?” Parker asked.

  Stewart shook his head. “No, but I tend to work north of the border whereas he prefers south. Richer pickings, he says.”

  Parker nodded. “I gather you’ve worked with Andy, though?”

  “Dozens of times. Good man to have around on a tough'en. He tells me you and him did a few jobs together some years back?”

  “That's right.”

  “Mostly security vans, I gather?”

  Parker laughed. “When I think now of the diabolical risks we used to take it's a wonder any of us are still around.” He paused, then added, “I suppose that's why I'm so taken by this job. It should be a doddle. I mean, there's hardly any risk attached to it at all.”

  Stewart grinned. “Watch what you're saying, old mate. You must know yourself it's usually on the simple jobs you come a cropper.”

  *

  Precisely ten minutes after seven they arrived at the island.

  Thanks to Maclean, who was there swinging a torch to and fro, they were able to pin-point the exact position of the jetty from offshore. Left to their own devices, they would never have found it in the pitch dark.

  There were no lights on this side of the island. Most of the crofts and houses were concentrated around the pier and on the west side. According to the map, this side of the island was given over mainly to open moorland with a scattering of those ubiquitous derelict 'black houses' that were once occupied by large crofting families and were now grim reminders of a dying age.

  Their arrival was without incident. Stewart maneuvered the boat deftly into a small cove and between a group of half submerged rocks.

  Then they were up against the weed-covered timbers of the tumbledown jetty. The water was rougher here, waves running about three feet from crest to trough, and there were some hairy moments as they tried to get the mooring line across to Maclean.

  The boat heaved and dived, heaved and dived, and without adequate fenders the hull scraped dangerously against the pilings. But eventually Maclean had the lines secured and the slack was taken in so the boat had less of a tendency to pitch.

  When the engine was turned off all that could be heard, aside from the howling wind, was the tide gurgling over the rocks and the soft kissing sound of water being sucked into little clefts and gullies.

  The rocks stretched away into the night on either side of them and Parker wondered what had ever possessed the islanders to place the jetty in such an awkward and dangerous position. It was no wonder they no longer used it, he thought.

  “Everything okay?” Maclean called out.

  “Right as rain,” Stewart replied. “You?”

  “Raring to go.”

  “Any hitches?”

  “Not so far.”

  Stewart and Parker lowered themselves on to the jetty and Parker spoke to Maclean. “So where is the treasure?”

  “Still at Mor's house. I've borrowed a van. It’s plenty big enough to carry the treasure. It's up the hill on the road.”

  “What about the fishing boats?”

  “All three have gone to bed in the harbour,” Maclean said.

  Hodge jumped down on to the jetty and handed round the shotguns. Parker took a ball of four nylon stockings from his pocket and handed those out, too.

  Hodge pulled a face. “Are these really necessary?”

  “It's best to be on the safe side,” Maclean told him. “You probably won't even have to wear it as I doubt you'll see anyone.”

  Hodge accepted his stocking with a measure of reluctance and stuffed it into the side pocket of his anorak.

  A moment later all four were standing in a huddled group on the jetty. Around them the wind was brewing, moaning plaintively in the darkness like a dog lamenting the death of its beloved owner.

  The night was no longer such an impenetrable shroud. Their eyes had grown accustomed to it and vague black outlines were beginning to take on a distinctive form. A hill rising like a pyramid into the clouds, the chimney of a derelict 'black house', and what looked like steps hewn out of bare rock climbing upwards from the jetty, over-grown with weeds and heather.

  “I ask you,” Hodge whispered. “Who in his right mind would want to live up here?”

  Stewart felt uneasy, too. “Well, come on,” he said. “Let's get on with it. Nothing's going to get done if we stand around here scratching ourselves.”

  “Right,” Maclean said. “But let's run quickly through the plan. First we go to the harbour where you, Bob, disable the fishing boats. And don't hang about. Just wrench out a few necessary parts. We then drive up to the telephone exchange where you two” — he gestured towards Stewart and Hodge — “mess up the equipment. It's not manned so you shouldn't have any trouble there. Meanwhile, Parker and I will go on to Mor's house and load the treasure into the van. We’ll pick you up on the way back. I drop you off back here and while you load the treasure I go and pick up Bella from her house. In all it should only take an hour and a half from start to finish. Then it's back here and we're on our way.”

  Maclean looked at each of them.

  “Any questions?” he said. There were none. “Then let's go.”

  They trundled up the steps and found a large Bedford van parked on the narrow road at the top of the hill. Its tyres were caked in dry mud and there was writing on the side that was indecipherable under the grime. Here the wind was stronger and Stewart began to have some misgivings about the weather.

  Looking up at the sky, he said, “If this gets any worse it could make things bloody difficult on the way back.”

  “A storm wasn't forecast,” Maclean pointed out.

  “You don't have to tell me that,” Stewart said, his Scottish accent more pronounced than usual. “But that doesn't mean we won't have one. Look at that sky. Not a frigging break in the cloud. And this wind. I tell you I don't like it.”

  “Quit worrying,” Maclean told him. “It's too late to turn back now anyway. Let
's worry about how to get back once we have the treasure.”

  Stewart shrugged his shoulders and followed the others into the van. Maclean and Parker shared the front seat and Hodge and Stewart crouched in the back on the dust-covered floor.

  When the headlamps were switched on they poured light over a shabby road of weathered bitumen that was fringed by desolate moorland. It was an inhospitable sight. Stark and lonely.

  “Are we likely to bump into anyone?” Parker asked, thinking it distinctly unlikely.

  “Not at this time of the evening,” Maclean assured him. “Mid-week, people usually go to bed double early. And believe me, they need to after the kind of work these people put into the average day.”

  The engine spluttered into life and the van jogged off along the road. Suddenly, the moon appeared through a gap in the cloud cover, spilling a pale wintry glow over the stark, undulating wilderness. At the roadside were a couple of abandoned crofts and ruined byres — silent witness to a vanished population. Beyond them, rising into the night, heather-covered hills around which were spread bleak shaggy moors. Occasionally a light would show, a mere pin prick in the darkness, and it would serve as a chilling reminder of their isolation.

  The road was rutted and sinuous and only a short step up from being a cart track.

  It took them all of ten minutes to get to the island's capital, which was nothing more than a cluster of small two-storey grey houses strung out along either side of the poorly surfaced road. This one street alone, according to Maclean, constituted the entire village. There was a grocer's, a post-office, a church. Out of about twenty houses only eight were showing light.

  The street was completely deserted, and the silence, when they stopped briefly to look around, was almost palpable. An air of peace and permanence hung over the place like a heavy blanket. All the houses were matchbox size, rather quaint, and there was no escaping the fact that the place possessed a charm all its own.