‘You may be right,’ replied Boreyev, ‘but as I’m here now and you just launched Athena to God knows how many people in London. I’m happy to tell you that I’ve done a rota system with my men that should keep everyone safe – even if no one turns up to steal your software.’
The two of them toured to castle both inside and out, with Boreyev pointing out where and how his people would deal with people passing certain critical points. With many tourists going round the castle, following guides, a new system had also been put in place to gently shepherd any strays away for potential access to the south east area of the castle.
‘You’ve done a great job, Boris,’ said Angus, ‘and if there are any would-be software thieves on their way here, it seems they won’t get past your lot.’
‘That’s as maybe,’ replied Boreyev, ‘but, to start off with, over a week or so after the launch of your main software, I’m going to put one of my men on watch by the one entrance to the south east tower and the Lab’. When that watch finishes at 4a.m I’ll take over and my man can get a few hours’ sleep in my room.’
‘Are you sure?’ said Angus, ‘isn’t that taking things a bit far, I mean …’
‘Just a precaution,’ said Boreyev, interrupting him, ‘If I were the software thief, I reckon I’d come onto the island as a tourist, mingle with all the other tourists, hide myself in the castle somewhere and attempt the theft under the cover of darkness.’
‘Well, you’re the expert,’ said Angus, ‘so of course you must do whatever you think is best. If you need any extra assistance, please, you must let me know.’
‘No need for anything extra for now,’ said Boreyev, ‘but we can review that as we go along. In the meantime, starting tonight, I’ll get a man in place on watch and relieve him myself at four.’
They chatted a bit more about other matters and Angus then left Boreyev who continued off around the castle familiarising himself with its many rooms, corridors and small passageways.
* * * * *
Although Tatiana had been to Craithe a couple of times and Angus’s parents had been to Moscow also on two occasions - not least her wedding of course - she had spent little time with the Laird. On Angus’s advice she had ‘booked’ him for a chat for, although she guessed he was in his late-sixties, he seemed to be constantly busy. The two of them had agreed to meet in the Great Hall after lunch and she purposely made sure to get there early.
She now sat sipping the cup of coffee she had brought with her from after lunch, and looked about the great room. This, and so much more about Angus were in such sharp contrast to herself. Both had been born in the late seventies but whereas Angus’s birth-right was one of privilege, stability and a way of life centuries old, Tatiana’s was not. Her father, Mikhail Vassilov was one of a number of bright, adventuresome people who began to take advantage of the spontaneous privatisation that took place in President Gorbachev’s time and whilst he rose to become one of the Oligarchs, his position was always tenuous and her youth was spent in a state of permanent uncertainty, sometimes of fear too. The climb to the status of Oligarch had also made many of these titans of business a number of enemies and the Dacha incident in which her mother had been killed was just a particularly violent outbreak of something always lurking in their lives.
The arrival of the handsome, carefree young man from Scotland and the City of London, seconded to her father’s bank, had brought her a glimpse of his very different world and, after the Dacha incident when he had saved her life, she had embraced both Angus and his way of life.
She was always intrigued to learn more of his background, if only to better understand him and the source of his striking self-confidence and she hoped that meeting his father this morning might further that.
As she looked round the Great Hall with its portraits and the history of the Macraes, around its walls, she felt both daunted and yet proud that her little Jerry would one day be master of all of this, and this connection through her son gave a surge of confidence even as she looked round about her.
Her thoughts were interrupted by the noise of the heavy main door opening. The tall, but slightly stooped, wiry frame of the Laird breezed into the hall, bustling with energy and looking ready to be quizzed by his daughter in law. As always he was dressed in an old yet well-tailored tweed jacket and a kilt so old and faded that it could easily have been handed straight down to him from one of his ancestors pictured on the walls above them.
‘My dear Tatty,’ he said using Angus’s pet name for her, ‘I do hope you haven’t been waiting too long for me - I’m running a bit late I’m afraid.’
‘Not at all,’ she replied in her perfect English. Her time at St Andrews University had given her an excellent command of English and, although this command was faultless, as is so often amongst foreigners, it was delightfully tainted with that deep plumy accent that all Russians seem to have – whichever language they speak in.
‘When I think back over my little life to date,’ she said to the Laird as they sat down near the fire, ‘I just find it so difficult to understand all the centuries of history here in this room – it seems to come out of the very walls. And although, as you know, History was my subject at St Andrews, all of this is almost overpowering. Doesn’t it daunt you and Angus a bit to be part of all of this?’
‘Not really,’ replied the Laird, ‘all of it here in this room just reminds us of how we fit into its history. All of these people’, he continued with a sweep of an arm, ‘they were all just like you and me. All had their time for tears and for their joys as well. Their struggles were different in the sense that the world moves faster these days, but theirs was often bloodier. But, anyway, you didn’t come here for a history lesson. I wasn’t allowed to choose my parents and nor were you, we all just have to make the best of what we’ve been given, don’t we? I don’t think it was much different for them either’.
‘And Angus?’ she asked, ‘is doing all right - making the best of what he was given, do you think?’
‘He’s doing more than just that, in my view,’ replied the Laird, ‘When he got a good first degree from Oxford, the world might have been his oyster but, when his cousin Tommy was drowned, he bowed to his Uncle Jeremy’s plea to go into the Towneley Bank. I believe it was about the last thing he had wanted to do with his life, still in our family as in many others, duty comes before one’s own wishes.’
Tatiana gave a little grimace, ‘He doesn’t seem to resent that choice now’.
‘Of course not,’ replied the Laird, ‘look how it’s turned out, eh? He was seconded to your father’s bank, met you, married and then little Jerry came along, what could be more wonderful than all of that - resent it? I should say not indeed.’ He gave a bellow of a laugh at the thought of it.
She was looking back up at him again, smiling though he had become more serious.
‘Why the frowning?’ she asked.
‘Jeremy’s latest project is fraught with difficulties - the one Angus’s taken over from him,’ he said, ‘They may have come up with a brilliant way to further protect the City of London’s financial systems - but in developing something lots of other people seem to want, I worry that they may have invited more attention to the island of Craithe than they’ve bargained for.’
Tatiana moved even further forward in her chair, she had not heard speak of Angus’s work like this before.
‘Angus makes a point of never boring me with his work’ she said, ‘He’s told me before that, with my father in banking too, I must be fed up with it the financial world, so he doesn’t like to risk boring me and never talks of it.’
‘Maybe I shouldn’t have spoken about it then,’ said the Laird.
‘Oh no, I’m glad you did. I won’t use your words to bully him but it gives me a chance to ask him more about that now that I know.’
‘Bully me?’ said Angus from the door into the Great Hall. The two of them had been so intent on their chat that neither of them had heard him come in.
‘I was just saying to Tatty that I think yours and Jeremy’s ways of shaking up the international financial world to protect it may be brilliant but dangerous,’ said the Laird.
‘Well only a little dangerous,’ conceded Angus as he came over to the fire. He bent down and gave his wife a little peck on the cheek though they had seen each other less than a couple of hours before.
‘Why dangerous?’ she insisted.
‘No point in worrying you about what might never happen,’ he said drawing himself up to his full height and resting an arm against the fireplace. ‘What we’re doing right now is certainly ruffling a few feathers in the City of London and on Wall Street but that’s to be expected. But I will admit that we’ve now got here something others would like to get their hands on but that’s always been a hazard of life, hasn’t it? I heard the other day that a hedge fund billionaire was giving away most of his money to charities because his family had been threatened with kidnap for ransom.’
‘What you mean we’re at risk the same way as a billionaire?’ asked Tatiana.
‘I very much doubt that,’ said Angus smiling down at her, ‘for a start I don’t think anyone knows where we and our programmes are,’ and then added after a slight pause, ‘and anyway, that’s why I got Borislav and his men over from Moscow to protect us. There’s really nothing to worry about’.
* * * * *
Throughout the rest of Friday life within the castle took on the air of a family on holiday – worries of Athena, thieves, and dangers were put aside. Angus took one of the Land Rovers and drove Tatiana, Jerry, Anastasia and Kim around the island. The three women, chatted away in Russian, admiring the spectacular scenery, the mountains, the cliffs the wildlife while little Jerry, sitting in the front seat next to his father, played on a small, mock steering wheel as though he were the driver. Exhausted by his day, Jerry was off to bed early and even the grown-ups retired to bed soon after dinner, tired too after a long day.
As planned, Boreyev posted one of his men, Ivan, near the entrance to the south west tower for the first watch. Ivan was told he could make himself a hot drink if he wished in the restaurant’s kitchens but, naturally, was to remain vigilant at all times.
Earlier, during the afternoon, Boreyev had paced out a few critical points in the castle. Now, on his way back to his room, he counted his steps at some of these critical points – indeed he was so busy counting that, in the near-darkness, coming round the corner of the tower corridor onto the Gallery landing, he ran smack into Kim coming the other way.
They quickly disentangled themselves and Boreyev, with a mixture of embarrassment and sudden excitement, could only blurt out, ‘you shouldn’t be out alone in dark.’
‘But, I’m not alone,’ she replied and smiled broadly back at him. There was just enough light for him to see this but, for a fateful moment he hesitated. Then, regaining his self-control he said, ‘Though we’ve no reason as yet to suppose anyone is going to come here to the castle to steal Athena, my men will be jumpy about people moving about the Castle after dark.’
‘I’m sorry, that never occurred to me’, she said.
‘Well, from now on, better to think about that,’ he said. She nodded and she went on towards her room with a whispered ‘good night’ over her shoulder.
Boreyev too continued his walk round the gallery but he gave more thought to the incident. He had twice now said he thought after dark would be good for an attempted theft. A good would-be thief might think the same. That meant, maybe, that the opposite was the more likely – a bold attempt in broad daylight by someone posing as a lost tourist. He made a mental note to act on this new assumption in the morning.
Chapter 20
Easter Saturday morning,
Crinan, Argyllshire
Starting the new season, this particular year Neil McKinnon was in good spirits. This was the first time he would be taking out his gleaming Mitchell 31 touring boat, Calistra, with the thirty-five-thousand-pound loan on her paid off. For the first time she was truly his. Her sleek black hull, reflecting mirror-like the waters of the loch, her beige decks, the white cabin, the large open space in the stern, she was the perfect craft for touring around this, one of the most beautiful coastlines in Britain.
He felt that the omens for business were good. Most unusually, he had a choice of three bookings for this first day. Two of them had been for full boatloads of ten, one out of his home port, Crinan, the other out of Ardune, just up the coast - but he had chosen the third. It was for four young men. They had wanted the boat to themselves for the whole day and were prepared to pay the full amount of a boatload of ten. This third choice seemed the obvious one to pick, same money, less trouble, no over-boisterous young, and no elderly to complain about the roughness of the seas or the ride.
The booking had been made for them by Hamish Munro, owner of the Galley of Lorne Inn. Most of the hotels and B&Bs and some of the caravan parks along the coast had leaflets extolling the delights of trips aboard the Calistra. McKinnon took bookings from the owners or managers of these outlets in return for a small commission. But, rather than the commission, it was his reputation for giving everyone a great day out that kept up a steady flow of business coming his way. Of all of his business providers, Hamish and his Galley of Lorne Inn was his preferred source.
At the last minute, only an hour before McKinnon was due to pick up the four, the time of departure was put back by a couple of hours to eleven o’clock - something about a fifth gentleman, maybe joining the four but delayed in getting back from Oban.
Despite the tiresome change of plan, McKinnon made sure he left Crinan to be at the Galley of Lorne in good time. Young locals helped him to cast Calistra off from the quay and he motored north across Loch Crinan and up Loch Craignish, arriving at the Galley of Lorne’s private jetty just before eleven - the amended time.
A young lad who had been fishing off the end of it jumped to his feet and helped to tie Calistra up alongside. McKinnon thanked the lad and then climbed out of boat and stood on the jetty next to her bows, his battered white-topped captain’s hat tucked under his arm.
There he waited for his four customers. They were late. After McKinnon had been standing there for some twenty minutes, and was just about to go back aboard Calistra to get his mobile telephone and try ringing Munro – a kind of lucky dip activity, mobile phones, even here on the mainland. He had the mobile in his hand when he spotted the four leaving the Inn up the hill above him. He put the mobile away and waited until they appeared round the corner of the path leading down to the jetty. As soon as they reappeared, he immediately guessed that they were of the military – all of them tall, straight-backed, in step, one behind another. He guessed that they were either still serving or just ex’; perhaps they were on well-deserved leave form the hell of Afghanistan or Iraq. When they got to the jetty, the leader introduced himself as Greg Flaxman and, waving his hand to indicate the other three behind him, he mumbled their names as though they were of little account. This and the lack of an apology for their lateness irked McKinnon. Used to years of assessing his customers, he decided that this was not a nice man, nor a leader to have to follow either.
They had also brought with them an old-fashioned wicker picnic basket which, as soon as they were aboard, Flaxman put down carefully in the stern of the boat. They then stood near the basket as McKinnon did his usual introduction to the boat and told them a few things on safety at sea.
‘You’re welcome to use the wee cabin below decks – you’ll find it up front in the bows if you feel at all queasy, you might want to lie down there on one of the bunks,’ he said, ‘though I recommend staying out in the fresh air if you’ve not found your sea legs yet. There’s a toilet, known as the heads here on board, it’s just aft of the cabin and opposite it there’s a wee galley for making tea or a meal if you wish. If it’s a snack you’re after there are biscuits an’ things in the cupboards, just help yourselves. Steps from down there lead up into the main cabin in fron
t of us here and if it gets rough or it turns to rain that’s the spot for you. But I find that most of my guests like it best out here in the open of the stern, plenty of seating as you can see and good for all round views.’
‘When we get out into the open sea, especially near the Gulf, I’ll need to use the microphone and address system on account of the noise of the waves and the engine, but I’ll tell you more about that later when we get out there. Any questions at all?’
None of them spoke. McKinnon sensed that this might be a difficult day, but he smiled at the end of his little speech – perhaps they all had weightier matters on their minds.
He started up the engine and, helped by the same young boy, cast off and headed Calistra south, back down Loch Craignish. At the end of the loch they turned right, to the west. The two younger members of the foursome sat on the seats in the stern, Flaxman and the equally large man who seemed to shadow him everywhere, both came up and stood next to McKinnon who had now settled up onto his skipper’s high white leather swivel chair behind the wheel.
‘How long to get out to Craithe?’ asked Flaxman.
‘On a calm day like this, about an hour an’ a half’ he replied, ‘depending, of course how much time any of you wish to spend looking round and photographing the famous Corryvreckan.’
‘What’s that exactly, the Corryvreckan? Someone was talking about it in the bar last night but I wasn’t really listening,’ said Flaxman.
‘Third largest whirlpool system in the world,’ replied McKinnon, ‘quite safe on a day like today and the present state of the tides. But when the seas are rough, it can become impassable to almost any craft, except maybe the lifeboats. Today, because of the tides and the afternoon weather forecast, we’ll need to be coming back through the gulf by four o’clock, will you remember that?’
Betrayed: (A Financial and Conspiracies Thriller – Book 1 in the Legacy Thriller Series) Page 15