by Bill Flynn
Lyle passed the plan on to Beth and she in turn to Matt who was still on the room phone.
There was a pause from Matt and some talk in the background before he spoke. "The local police have volunteered to whisk me to the airport. I’ll wait there for Bray’s airplane."
"How did you get free, Matt?" Beth couldn’t help asking.
"I got some help. I was released near here, and found a police station. Let Scott know what’s happening." And then Matt added, "Tell him to make some birdies on the back nine. Okay? Thanks, I have to rush, bye."
Beth called Randal Lyle, and the security golf cart pulled up in front of the hotel lobby shortly after. He wiped the seat beside him with a dry towel and handed Beth a yellow slicker like the one he was wearing.
Randal spoke into his hand-held radio, asking for the location of Scott Beckman on the course. The answer came back, and they drove off into the rain and wind toward the 8th tee.
Scott just made a par on the 7th hole and was walking to the 8th tee when he saw Randal and Beth drive toward him. He tried to prepare for what could be the worst news about Matt.
Beth beckoned Scott over to the golf cart and said breathlessly, "Matt’s alright. I just finished talking with him."
Scott stood still and looked up at the gray sky for a moment before he asked her, "When will he be here?"
"He should be in Turnberry after you finish play."
"Not sooner?" Scott asked anxiously.
"Not likely. He may be delayed by the weather, but he’ll be here to caddie tomorrow. His message for you was to make some birdies."
"I’ll try. I feel a bit more like it now. Thanks, Beth. I’ll see you after I finish."
After hitting a huge drive on the 8th hole, called Goat Fell, Scott walked off the tee feeling like a weight had been suddenly lifted from him. He birdied not only the 8th, but also the next two holes. And he rounded out the rest in par except at the 17th, Lang Whang, where he made an eagle three. Lang Whang was becoming his favorite hole. When Scott walked off the 18thgreen he still led the British Open on this third day, and one stroke better than Yamazaki.
Yamazaki bowed and shook Scott’s hand. He said, "tomorrow, I’ll play with you again." He turned and was escorted by Randal’s men through the horde of Japanese cameramen clamoring to photograph the one who could well become their long awaited national hero.
After they signed their scorecards, the two players were escorted to the press tent. Scott had to field a few questions about his missing caddie. He was thankful the news of Matt’s kidnapping hadn’t leaked. When he left the press tent the wind gusts were even stronger than during play, and the rain was heavier. He decided not to practice in such harsh conditions. He was also anxious to get the latest on Matt, so he headed straight for the locker room.
Scott entered the locker room after signing some autographs. Douglas McEwan had finished cleaning his clubs and was hanging up some foul-weather gear to dry. He paid Douglas in cash, and the lad was taken aback by the two 100 pound notes put in his hand.
"Thanks for taking Matt’s place, Douglas. You did a great job in this weather. Looks like Matt will be back on the bag tomorrow…Oh, and by the way, you were right on standing up to Yamazaki’s caddie when he asked you about the club I’d hit on that par three."
Douglas was all smiles. "It was nothing, Mr. Beckman. I’ll be following you tomorrow after doing some ferreting on Arran." He tried to hand Scott back the money. "I’d rather play a round with you after the Open instead of being paid so much."
"How about if I do both?" Scott said.
The smile on Douglas’ face broadened, and his exclamation was an American origination he’d picked up recently. "Awesome!"
Scott left the locker room and walked up the hill to the hotel. The rain had let up some, but the wind was still howling through the Linksland. The forecast for tomorrow was worse than today. It would be another day to test a player’s shot-making skills in severe weather…a day only a gannet would love.
When he entered his room he was pleased to see Beth and thanked her for standing by the phone. Their kiss was a long one, ending a tumultuous day that had finished much better than it had begun.
The Gulfstream V landed at Prestwick at seven in the evening with Matt on board. He called Scott from the Kilt and Jeans just as Scott was finishing dinner in the hotel dining room with Beth. The waiter handed Scott a phone.
"Hey, Scott, have you seen my earring?" Matt said.
"The cops kept it for evidence, but I’ll buy you a new one. You don’t know how great it is to hear your voice. How are you?"
"Tired, and I have a sore place where my earlobe used to be. But I’ll be okay in the morning. Bob Bray’s pilot got me out of Belfast and into Prestwick through some really nasty weather. I was given a tetanus shot and some antibiotics at the clinic here. Hey, I heard you’re leading it."
"Yeah, unbelievable. Everything started working on the back nine, but I need you to keep it going in tomorrow’s weather. Tee time is one thirty."
"I’ll sleep in until ten and meet you in the locker room at eleven. Good night, dude."
Douglas McEwan was up and about early and cooking his breakfast porridge. After eating it, he pulled on his boots and buttoned his raincoat. The hood of the coat fit snugly over his red curly hair and its drawstring framed his freckled face. He quietly closed the door to the small cottage bordering the Turnberry courses and walked out into a gale-force wind partnered with hard-driving rain. He thought it would be a good day for ferreting out the rabbits thinking they’d hunker down in their burrows, away from the storm and the noise of the Open crowd.
He was excited about Scott’s chance to win, and after he finished ferreting he looked forward to following Scott with his father. Could Mr. Beckman continue to handle the wind? His da often said, "nae wind… nae golf," and the earliest McEwans of St. Andrews had passed along those words through generations. Douglas wasn’t sure he could ever live up to that phrase because he preferred to play when the wind wasn’t blowing at him or his golf ball.
He fetched his ferret from the shed next to his house, and the animal seemed eager to get on with the hunt as he pulled hard at the leash. Douglas fed him a small lump of sugar and grabbed a burlap sack from a pile on the floor. He opened the shed door with the ferret under his arm and faced an onslaught of a hard-driving rain that stung at his face. The thrill of caddying for Scott the day before still lingered as he trudged toward the Arran course with the empty burlap sack over his shoulder.
Scott was finishing breakfast in his room when the phone rang. It was the chief inspector.
"I want to wish you the very best today." Bradshaw said.
"I’ve got my caddie back…thanks to you. What was that all about?"
"It was about the amount of money bet on you at high odds. The owner of Barkley’s Betting Shops, Ian Barkley, was intent on your withdrawal from the Open. His object was to stop his potential losses in case you won."
"How did you get on to them and get Matt released?" Scott asked.
"Barkley was a person of interest in your feathery robbery. I cross checked information on him with a Scotland Yard team working on gambling irregularities, and found out they had Barkley and his bodyguard, an ex-IRA operative, Malachy Gallagher, under surveillance. Most of Barkley’s activity dealt with fixing horse racing and football, and he had a crew, inclusive of Gallagher, fixing jockeys and football players. But we’re pretty sure this was the first time Barkley has tried to fix professional golf."
"How did you find Matt?"
"Well, this Gallagher chap called us from his mother’s house in Belfast to give us the information on where they were holding Matt, and then he turned himself in. We have Gallagher in protective custody, since he’s a key witness against Barkley. Because of his cooperation we’re working on a reduced sentence for him, with the possibility of amnesty for his crimes when he was with the IRA."
"How did Scotland Yard surveillance people miss Matt�
��s kidnapping from the Kilt and Jeans?"
"TheYard was watching racetracks and football pitches for Gallagher and his team to show. They hadn’t linked Barkley’s golf-fixing angle until your caddie’s kidnapping came about. But we caught up to them in Northern Ireland when we got the tip from Gallagher. The rest of getting him free was left up to the undercover agent we had planted there."
"Why did they let Matt go?" Scott asked.
"The kidnappers who’d held your caddie in Larne, Northern Ireland, were ex-IRA whom Barkley had a hold over. He knew of their past deeds of carrying out terror bombings in London and other violence. Our mole, whom they trusted," Bradshaw continued, "convinced those holding Matt Kemp that he had information from other ex-IRA sources we were closing in on them…so they released Kemp and ran."
"Have you rounded up the bad guys?"
"Not quite, Scott, but we’re doing so with the help of the Irish police."
"How about the feathery robbery and murder?" Scott asked.
"The others, who had a keen interest in bidding on the feathery, to include Carrabba, Barkley and Sarah Covington, have been cleared of any implication at this time. Arrests in Spain and New York have gathered up the killer and his accomplices. Their London connection, Mary Harding, is in custody."
"That’s good news. Where’s the feathery?"
"It’s on my desk as we speak, and I’m admiring it. Of course I’m wearing latex gloves while examining it."
To Scott, it sounded like Bradshaw was eating while he spoke. "When will I get the feathery back?"
The mastication sounds continued while Bradshaw talked through them. "I’m admiring all three of those fascinating antiques on my desk as we speak." Said Bradshaw. "The feathery will be on the way to you at Turnberry shortly by special courier along with the bronze statuette and the McNair Journal. They’re not needed for evidence. We have photos and a confession from the key conspirator, Mary Harding."
"Great work by you and Scotland Yard, Chief Inspector."
"Thanks, Scott. Now, concentrate on your game today. I’ll be watching on the telly….Cheers."
Later, when Scott entered the locker room, Matt was busy rubbing down the grip on one of the golf clubs. Matt put it quickly in the bag and stood up to receive the bear hug he knew was coming. Scott’s eyes misted over, and that embarrassed him until he noticed that his friend, since childhood, was leaking bigger drops.
Matt indicated the bandage on his ear. "Someone doesn’t like Sherpas who wear a gold earring."
"It could’ve been worse if Bradshaw and Scotland Yard hadn’t found you," Scott said.
When they reached the practice green, gusts of wind laden with rain were causing umbrellas to attempt flight, and the force of it sprung some inside-out, rendering them useless and soon candidates for a trash barrel toss. Scott wore two cashmere sweaters under his rain suit jacket and a wool watch cap stretched down over his ears to hide most of his blond hair. Matt had the golf bag ready for the weather and was intent on protecting the club grips from the wet and keeping Scott as dry as possible in these conditions.
At the putting green, Randal Lyle beckoned Matt over to the ropes. "Knowing what you’ve been through, lad, I wouldn’t expect this storm to bother you much." Then with a smile he added, "I’d say, it’s a good thing you’re still on this side of the grass."
Scott’s eyes met Matt’s. Lyle’s philosophical remark hit home to set the tone for their day. They would play this tournament, gladly breathing the cold-wet air and laughing at the wind.
The same player as yesterday joined Scott on this final day of the British Open. They shook hands. The rain and wind hadn’t kept the entourage of Japanese media and Yamazaki fans away. Spotting the McEwans behind the ropes, Scott hurried over to them.
"Douglas, meet me at the pro shop tomorrow morning at ten o’clock with your dad and be ready to play a round of golf." He shook David McEwan’s hand and gave Douglas a pat on the shoulder.
Douglas’ face was flushed, and his joy may have let caution blow away in the wind. "I’ll be there for sure," he said in a loud voice. "Now, just beat the pants off of this one." He pointed at Yamazaki.
Both their drives dropped into good positions on the fairway, but against the wind they were relatively short at 235 yards. Golf shots in the strong gusts were truly laughable. Downwind, wedges were being used where eight irons would be the normal choice and against the wind it was the opposite mode in club selection. Scott was having a problem with his putts. A gust seemed to hit just as the putter head was going toward the ball. Matt reminded him to widen his stance for more stability and better balance in the wind.
When they reached the 9th, Bruce’s Castle, Yamazaki had tied Scott for the lead. The 9th tee was perched out on a rocky cliff, with a long drop to waves crashing below. Scott looked out toward the water and saw the gannets in a diving-feeding frenzy. The wind was at the player’s backs. Scott had the honors after making his second birdie of the round on the 8th. It was time to use a driver to tee off instead of a conservative two or three iron. Scott had those two drivers in his bag…one with a face angle of eight degrees and the other with ten. He pulled the ten degree driver out of he golf bag. The added loft on the face would launch the ball high to ride the wind, and the driver’s longer shaft would create more swing speed at impact than an iron or a three-wood.
Scott’s driver caught the ball perfectly and it flew off the tee, riding the gale as it soared high above a stone cairn 200 yards out in the middle of the fairway. It came to rest almost another 200 yards from that marker.
"Awesome! Could be on the green," Matt said.
Yamazaki didn’t want any part of Scott’s high altitude game. He selected a one iron for a low trajectory that put him in the fairway 270 yards out.
Scott’s ball ended up 390 yards from the 9th tee and 30 yards from the green. Scott and Yamazaki made birdies and were both still tied for the lead. The leader board showed no movement upward by the rest of the field playing in front of them, and no players were on the course in back of Beckman and Yamazake who were the last to tee off.
Scott was up by one stroke over Japan’s pride after the 16th, Wee Burn. The 17th, Lang Whang, had been Scott’s best played hole in the tournament. He’d twice made eagles there. Today, the wind was crossing right to left. He thought, If I aim at the bunker on the right with my drive, the wind will bring the ball back to the fairway and drop it short of another bunker on the left side.
Scott followed his plan, and his three-iron drive landed close to the prescribed spot, but too far away to make the green on his second shot in the dangerous crosswind. His safe second shot lay-up set him up for a pitching wedge third that came to rest fifteen feet from the cup. But he missed his birdie putt. The Japanese was away and sunk his for a par. Scott had a 4-foot putt for par, but just as he placed the ball in front of his marker, a blast of wind moved it ten inches to his right. The marker was still in place, and it was a reflex act when he picked the ball up and moved it back to the marker.
Matt warned, "No, don’t!" But it came too late.
Yamazaki was watching Scott’s next move. If Scott would putt from where he replaced the ball behind the marker he’d be penalized two strokes. When he realized Scott wasn’t going to putt from that spot, he called the rule infraction just as Scott was about to call it on himself. Yamazake said, "now you must play ball from where it rests after it moved by wind. One-stroke penalty for you for picking ball up."
Matt nodded and shrugged his shoulders. A nearby R and A official was summoned to the green and confirmed the rule called by Yamazaki. Scott replaced the ball on the spot where the Japanese agreed the gust moved it to, and his anger caused him to miss the five-footer and score a bogie for the hole. With the one-stroke penalty added, it was a two stroke swing in Yamazaki’s favor. He was one stroke up on Scott with only the 18th hole left to play.
They walked off the green. Scott was shattered by his mistake. The excitement among the Japanese cr
owd was now near pandemonium. Matt waited for the noise to die down before he took Scott aside near the water jug on the eighteenth tee.
"Okay, Scott, put it behind you and play this hole aggressively," Matt said.
Scott took in a large pull of air. "I blew it and feel stupid for not reacting to the rule and calling it before Yamazake.
"Matt put his hand on his friend’s shoulder. "Don’t be. Half the pros on tour don’t know that rule. Let’s play eighteen and forget rule number eighteen dash two."
Scott muttered, "Smart ass caddie." They both smiled and some of their tension eased.
Yamazaki’s three-wood drive split the fairway and landed 282 yards from the tee. The Japanese in the gallery voiced their approval and their hero’s grin smacked with a premature taste of victory.