by Mike Crowson
Chapter 2
The sky over Inverness was a overcast but the rain had stopped and it was brighter. It was a still chilly six-fifty in the morning when Frank Baxter dumped his rucksack and a canvas hold-all by the station buffet.
'Opens early,' he muttered. Of course there were quite a few early arrivals from the overnight train and Frank had a shrewd suspicion that there wouldn't be much else open at that time. No doubt most of those hanging around the station would be going on to Thurso as well.
Knowing that another member of the team was travelling up on the same train he looked around, trying to guess which of those still on the station was most likely to be Alan Wainwright. However, with most of their heavier baggage gone with the caravans and equipment, there was nothing to distinguish either of them from any other tourist. He shrugged and turned to order.