Chapter 11

On the Friday afternoon Susan had retrieved the MoD Police’s briefing about BUTEC from the records centre so at least Andrew had a better understanding what was involved. The British Underwater Test and Evaluation Centre was used for the testing and evaluation of torpedoes and submarines. The name rather gave it away. What was also explained to him was that there were two ranges controlled from separate control stations onshore. The more well-known range was where projectiles could be fired, primarily torpedoes, to assess performance. Those last two words cover hundreds of people’s work and a myriad of things but that is what they were told. The other range was an acoustic range where primarily submarines were assessed, particularly how silently they were running. It was a requirement of all submarines to be assessed at this range before deployment on patrol. Now what all that meant? They did not need to know that, at least at present. There was a firing range and an acoustic or sound range. Separate but close by. All supported from the town of Kyle of Lochalsh where there was a small base with piers, jetties, boats, all the usual maritime infrastructure. The sound range was the more northerly with the control station on the Island of South Rona. The firing range was south of it and its control station was on the mainland, many miles north of Kyle of Lochalsh. The briefing package included the locations of the three facilities and just getting around was going to be a challenge. Vestie and Andrew were off to about as obscure a military location as you can get within the UK and stay on the mainland.

So Monday morning there was no running or swimming rather Andrew met Vestie at Headquarters before they Tubed out to Heathrow and were on the morning Dan-Air flight to Inverness. The LandRover was waiting at the airport and Vestie signed for it. He climbed in and they headed off towards Inverness. For about a mile.

“You drive. All the time, everywhere.”

Looking back Andrew should have crashed in West Germany. The paperwork from that would have ensured he never was allowed to drive again. As it was they stopped at a petrol station, grabbed a bunch of sandwiches and snacks, and headed through Inverness for Kyle of Lochalsh. On another day and with Suzanne beside him rather than Vestie, it would have been a fun trip. Down the side of Loch Ness, past the ruins of Urquhart Castle before turning west. Five minutes from tourist kitsch and Nessie it felt like a different country. The settlements were tiny, and the scenery was grand. They drove in silence, Andrew quietly being very proud of his native land in a way that surprised him. The traffic was very busy though, there were a lot of cars going both ways including, inevitably, some pointless twats pulling caravans. Mind you an Army LandRover is not designed for high speed so he shouldn’t have complained. They passed Eilean Donan Castle and knew they were close. Less than five miles later they were at the village of Kyle of Lochalsh. It was chaos, cars everywhere, tourists everywhere, there were a lot more people than the village could support. BUTEC is almost the first thing you come to so they were able to turn off and escape midsummer craziness.

Andrew was left in the outer office while Vestie spoke to the Royal Navy Lieutenant Commander who ran the range. He should have stayed with the LandRover or gone with Vestie as the Navy Seaman and a civilian employee bugged him about why they were there. Regardless of how many times Andrew told them he couldn’t say anything they kept asking him variations on the same theme. It was like the idiot reporters all of whom ask the same question at a news conference despite having been told ‘no comment’ again and again. He got cajoling, false bonhomie, an appeal as a Scot, mild threats, you name it they tried the lot. After a while Andrew started to laugh, he needed a rolled-up newspaper to smack the pair of leg-humping puppies. Vestie saved him from this relentless barrage of inanity. He was pulled into the room, introduced to Roger Dunhill, the Navy Lt. Commander, before a large-scale map was produced. The Navy man started.

“The Russians would love to sniff around here. Now so far, we are unaware of any of their submarines getting into British waters let alone as close in as this but it doesn’t mean they haven’t tried in the past or will try again in the future. Additional units are being brought into the area to actively sweep and make sure nothing has got past. All being handled by the Navy and not your problem. But there are two range control stations, one of each side of the sound.”

He leaned over and pointed them out on the map.

“The Applecross station, just above the village of Sand, is on the mainland and is accessible. Now this is the west coast and it is only accessible by one road. The road is un-numbered and single lane in a lot of places. It branches off the 896 north of here. Going all the way up to Sheildaig and looping back is flat as it hugs the coast. There is a road that goes up and over the Peninsula that is marginal at times but much quicker. You can decide. The other station is at the north end of the Island of Rona, sometimes known as South Rona although there is not a North Rona beyond it. Anyway. The whole island is MoD owned and the only way to get there is by boat or, weather permitting, helicopter. Both ranges are only staffed up when there is a test, the rest of the time there are just three men stationed at Applecross and half a dozen on Rona, two weeks on, two weeks off. It is like going out to an oilrig just closer to shore.

“The issue is that there have been some signs of someone trying to get into both places. Now they are manned all the time but there are indications someone has tried to force open a least one window, stuff like that. It was spotted first at Applecross and when they did a once round at Rona there were some signs as well. So here you are. Overactive imaginations maybe but I called it in.”

“We will start at the mainland range control station tomorrow morning. We will want to go to the other control station as well so if you can let us know when the weather is suitable then we will go by boat. I see you have several launches here so if we take a boat it will be within your control whereas we will have to call for a helicopter, yes?”

Vestie sounded like he knew that would take a while.

“We can take you up there in a launch within a couple of hours.”

Even the Navy hated the Flyboys. They were given an empty office and Dunhill departed.

“He’s alright.”

Now that was about as high praise as you would get out of Vestie. But he was right. Dunhill focused on the Navy side of things, liaised within his chain of command and they were taking the incidents seriously. They called for the MoD Police, and now he had briefed Vestie, told him the Navy will provide logistical support but then fucked off and didn’t try and second guess anything.

“Okay, here are the other bits of information that I got from Dunhill. He was careful but he emphasised that all submarines go through the northern range. As far as I can tell it is the more important one from a day to day operational standpoint. You haven’t been out to Aldermaston or Burghfield but there are regular CND marches there demanding that Britain gives up its nuclear weapons. We are always arresting people and hauling them off. This is the very tail end of the long trail that starts there before the weapons end up at Faslane, are loaded onto those submarines and then the boats deploy. Now I don’t know, and the Navy as sure as shit are not going to tell us, whether they skulk past here armed or unarmed but the Polaris boats use this range. So it could be the CND lot sniffing around. Unlikely but something to consider.

“What he personally thinks is much more likely is that it is locals. The range started more than 10 years ago but for most of the 70s it was a clusterfuck. Trawlers kept snagging whatever the hell the Navy have down there. He called it range equipment. Whatever it is, the locals were fucking it up by fishing in the range, despite the fact that the range was supposed to be out of bounds. About five years ago the Navy turned the screw, and big time. Enforced the byelaws, hauled trawlers back to port, fined skippers and boat owners, the whole lot. Caused a right stink up here because fishing is one of the main local industries and suddenly two areas were properly out of bounds. Dunhill thinks it is more likely that it is locals sniffing around than either the Reds or the Ban the Bomb types. So no talking. I heard you outside with those two twats. Like that the whole time. There are no barracks here. Everyone is lodging in the town. The naval garrison is 12 I think he said. So there is shit operational discipline. All the locals know what is going on here. None of the details but there is an air of, fuck I don’t know, familiarity. Something like that. Too fucking cozy.”

“What about Dunhill?”

“Seems to know his shit and the Navy are taking this seriously. Now the southern range is the fancier one based on what he told me, and is where all this support stuff is used. They test torpedoes and all sorts of other stuff. He says they can be launched from planes, helicopters, fired from ships as well as the way we would think of it, from submarines. This is the one that is much more visible, range boats out on the Sound, red flags flying at the control station. Just a whole lot more fuss, like I said more visible. He says that there is a burst of activity as something is tested but then the boffins head back to the lab or factory or wherever. There are other ranges were they can test different parts but this is the main place. Everything and everybody comes through here, including other NATO navies.”

They left the LandRover at the Centre and walked to their boarding house. After all the chat from Vestie and Andrew’s experience in the office he was concerned they were going to be housed with a nosy, garrulous, interfering old busybody. They got the exact opposite. The classic dour Scottish Presbyterian widow. She wanted their money, fed them dinner and heaven help them if they made any noise. Frankly Andrew was relieved. They had a couple of drinks that night in the Hotel Bar but kept themselves to themselves mostly. But a 6’5” stranger with cropped hair had no chance of blending in. The barman asked a couple of questions but got nowhere and wandered off.

The following morning, old widow sunshine, actually Mrs. Grey, served them a large breakfast which they demolished in record time. It was time to be policemen, okay, driver and policeman. An hour out of Kyle got them to the turn off for the short route over to the control station, the road that Dunhill called marginal. Andrew looked at Vestie, he looked back and so they collectively shrugged and went the short way.

Britain is not an alpine country; the highest mountain is not even 4,500 feet. But this was Andrew’s first experience of driving a road similar to those seen in the high mountains of Europe. It went from sea level up to 2,000 feet and back down again in less than five miles. Blind corners, hairpin bends, steep drops, it had it all. Now was it some of the classic passes in the Pyrenees or the Alps, like the Stelvio? Of course not, but the sheer unexpected nature of it, the sense of ‘why the hell is this road here in the first place?’, it was captivating. It was also a complete bear hauling a LandRover round those corners but when they got to the top, there was a convenient viewpoint and Andrew pulled over. To catch his breath and shake out his tired arms as much as anything. They got out and looked back down the way they had come.

“I can see why he called it marginal. Must be closed in winter.”

“It seems pointless.”

Vestie looked at Andrew.

“What do you mean?”

“Did we pass anyone? Did anyone pass us? Did we meet any traffic? What is the point? It was a hell of a surprise to drive something like this but don’t tell me the military built this as part of the range construction?”

Even Vestie thought this was unlikely. The British military did some stupid things but this was above and beyond. In fact the road had been there for a while, following the path of a centuries old cattle drover’s track. It is one of the most scenic roads in all of Britain and they stumbled across it. The drive down was less severe but with endless views out over the Inner Sound and of the Island of Raasay opposite. They could make out the low silhouette of Rona to the north but no features. Once back to sea level they followed the road north and came to the control station. A couple of squat buildings low down near the water.

Andrew had done his job, now it was standing quietly, taking notes when told to and watching an experienced Detective do his job. In other words it was as boring as hell. There was nothing to see either outside or inside. The station only had the three people stationed there at present. There was no testing scheduled for the next two weeks. The main control room reminded Andrew of a lab at Cambridge. Lots of oscilloscopes, cabling in all directions but nothing to see. It was the output of these instruments that was the secret. Walking round the outside of the main building it did appear as if someone had been trying to pry open a window on the north side of the building. But there was no other physical evidence and the ground in front of the window was thoroughly trampled. This had been spotted more than a week before, at the end of the last test by someone going round the back of the building for a pee. As to when it happened? It could have been weeks if not months before. They drove back the long way, round the shore to see if it was easier. It was but it was also an anti-climax after the road over the top. As usual Andrew drove quietly while Vestie first sat in silence thinking and then started talking out loud, going over everything.

“The marks are not recent, the wood where the paint has been chipped off is dull so it’s been a while. This place is isolated but it is not secure.”

He was silent for a long time.

“Do you notice that everyone looks at us. Alright we are driving an Army LandRover but still. It was the same last night at the bar. Strangers are noticed. My instinct is telling me this is locals, but we better check the other place first. There is no point coming back here.”

Silence again.

“If we can get up to Rona then I think we could be done this week. I am going to recommend a fence round this station. Nothing too crazy but just another barrier to keep the locals away. Ban the bomb types like an audience so I don’t think it is them. If it is the Reds, then.”

He stopped.

“I’ll think about that. Tell me what you thought. You are always looking around.”

Andrew wasn’t surprised that Vestie asked for his opinion. He seemed to be a natural teacher.

“It is a lab for scientists to work. They didn’t care about showing us the control room. There was the big map table which I guess they use to lay out a detailed map of the range but the equipment is just the same as I use in my labs at Cambridge. Some of the gear is older than the stuff we use. It is not the building that is secret it is what all those devices measure and show.”

“Yeah, I was surprised when they just showed us around. So that scientific stuff is not super-secret.”

“No, some of it looks 30 years old.”

Again a long silence.

“So the secrets are at the labs were these torpedoes or whatever are designed and manufactured. This is just a big open-air test lab. The only secret thing would be the map with the exact locations of the equipment on the seabed.”

Andrew didn’t know if it was a question to him or a statement so drove quietly.

“Okay Jock. Let’s see what we find at the other place.”

For Andrew it turned out perfectly. The weather was awful, windy and choppy, and so on Wednesday they clung on to the rails on a small Navy launch that bounced and fought its way up the Inner Sound to the jetty on Rona. Stooped over against the wind they walked over to the control station. It was a variation on the same theme although this time they were not even allowed in the control building, which rather confirmed the relative importance of the two stations. As for the alleged evidence of intrusion, or at least an attempt, Vestie checked and did a thorough check on all the buildings. He had asked Andrew to look at everything as well, not touch anything but just follow along behind.

“Tell me what you think?”

The man was teaching Andrew to be a policeman almost by accident. Maybe this is how he would train Taff or someone else new. Andrew was used to being on the spot.

“It looks different than across on the mainland. I don’t know what the right way to say this is, but almost more natural.”

Vestie nodded.

“I know what you mean. I think it is just storm damage and after what they saw across the way they decided to be careful. This one is a wild goose chase, or so I am going to write up in the report. The one on the mainland was real. Someone tried to jemmy that window. This?”

He looked around at the scoured flat, bleak, windswept island. He didn’t need to say anything else. The ride back wasn’t smooth but it was a lot less bumpy than the run up. Vestie was still talking out loud, it was just the two of them in the little cabin.

“I think I am going to recommend they increase the detachment at Fort George or one of the two airfields.”

There were MoD Police detachments at Fort George barracks as well as at two large RAF bases slightly further east, all within an hour of Inverness.

“When they are testing here then two blokes can come over for the week in a LandRover, start to have more of a presence, not permanent but Susan said this was only the second visit here, ever. Once the word gets out that the range stations are being policed then the locals will keep their heads down. It also means that if it is someone else that we are covered.”

Andrew nodded sagely, what Vestie said made sense. But he had no idea how Lester would react. Wednesday night they packed up ready to head back to Inverness on the following morning. Vestie was going to drop Andrew off at the train station and then he was going to fly down Monday morning from Edinburgh. Vestie himself was going to work from Fort George for a couple of days and take the scheduled flight back to London. Susan, as usual, dealt with Andrew’s change with resigned good humour. Andrew was fortunate that he had an excess of overtime hours and as there was nothing for him to do in London, Jamieson was fine with him taking a day and a half off. It was the dichotomy of his summer job. He had just been at a range station that assessed whether the submarines with Britain’s nuclear deterrent on board were running silently yet he was a summer student that the permanent staff didn’t really care about. Odd.

One of Andrew’s main memories of that summer was that he was isolated. Not lonely per se, but more just cut off from other people. All summer he didn’t get to talk to many new people. And when he talked to his friends the whole job was out of bounds. With them it was no big deal, they talked about the other things going on, especially the wedding. But in Colchester, West Germany and up there in Scotland it was very much them and us. That night three or four people were oddly persistent in their questioning of who they were and what they were up to. They had told Dunhill they would be leaving the following morning having received the okay from Jamieson, so the village telegraph was working loud and strong. Dunhill kept his own counsel and so did Vestie and it was clearly not sitting well with the locals. It all rather reinforced the conclusion that it had been a local or locals that had attempted to get into the range control station.

It would have been nice to chat to some of the locals, flirt with some of the local maidens and generally not come across as a pair of standoffish cunts. Their words not his. But they survived and Thursday morning saw them once again crawling along behind a pair of caravans. There were always fucking caravans. Andrew was dropped off at the train station before lunchtime and would see Vestie on Monday in the office.

The flat was empty when he returned, there was no sign of Pete and knocking and putting his head round the door it looked like some of his stuff was gone from his room already. It was not a surprise. There were a couple of beers in the fridge and so Andrew sat on the couch with a beer just relaxing. No TV, no music even, just a quiet relaxing moment. Suzanne had mentioned that she ate at her parents and often didn’t return to the flat until 9.00. As Andrew had no way to get in touch with her he figured he would use the time to go and see Tony. As the boss he was the one person working who Andrew was sure he could talk to.

“Hey what are you doing here on a Thursday afternoon?”

“The assignment finished early, much earlier than we thought. I have done a lot of overtime so they let me take a day and a half in lieu. How’s things?”

“Busy. And all a bit complicated. So business is good, the summer is just about our best time, other than either side of Christmas, lots of tourists. Thanks for the talk with Maggie at the weekend, it calmed us both down and as usual you identified a solution.”

“Before you go on, do you think there is enough business? Everything else is solvable, but if there are no models then it is all pointless. And even if you find the models, are you going to be able to sell the shoots?”

Tony nodded his head.

“That is the question I don’t think any of us will know until we try. I want to try this, we want to try this, Maggie is as keen as me. She has moved in with me and with the two of us, I can afford to try. The only thing that will stop it is if by some miracle there is a lot of supply, lots of models, and no demand. Then I will have to stop because it will all be money going out with nothing coming in. But Maggie has already started advertising these private shoots.”

“Really. Where?”

“In the newspaper. It has already run in the Evening News.”

That was the local afternoon newspaper. Over the next year Maggie cycled through endless names, Dreams, Fantasies, Private Memories, Intimate, A Special Occasion. And steadily that business grew.

“You said that you were busy and things were complicated. What’s up? Anything I can help with?”

Tony hesitated for a moment.

“I don’t want you to think that I am tapping you up. But there is an opportunity. And that is where it gets complicated.”

As a taster it had Andrew’s attention.

“I own a share of a piece of land on the outskirts of the city. Remember Archie McGuire, the guy who owns the removal company?”

Andrew nodded. The two weeks with psychotic Grant had left an indelible impression.

“The reason we are mates is that our grandfathers bought a small patch of land between the wars. The land was pretty shit and the two of them struggled all through the Depression trying to survive. They thought they were going to get rich and instead it nearly bankrupted them. But they were saved by the war. Half the land was taken over by the government for a Prisoner of War Camp and it was this that allowed them to survive. But the other half of their land was still marginal, even when they had free POW labour from the camp. Struggling through the 1930s took its toll on them and both were dead before 1950. Both their sons survived the war and took over what was left, though it was still shit for agriculture. But as Edinburgh expanded they received offers to buy the land for that continued expansion. So they sold off most of the land and that is how my Dad and Archie’s dad ended up with the money to start their businesses.”

Andrew had never considered that areas that he had known all his life as being built up and part of the city were farmland 30 years earlier.

“The old man was sharper than Archie’s father and when he saw what was being proposed for the land he suggested that they keep hold of some of it. I think Dad wanted to hold onto more but in the end they only held onto one large plot. Everything else was sold off. I know this is dragging on but it was important to the issue that I have now. Archie’s father is dead just like mine and so the two of us own this piece of land. And we get some bullshit low rental money for it. Both fathers blamed the other but they leased the land for 25 years in 1959. And they got screwed. Archie and I get fuck all money from the land. And it is really valuable now. It is part of Bankhead industrial estate and what we are getting is peanuts. Now, finally the lease is up, and the tenant knew that we were not going to renew. They had been smug, oily bastards with us but as the years passed realised that payback was going to be a bitch.”

Tony had been rambling on in a manner similar to Andrew. He was sure there was a point to all this but Tony hadn’t made it yet. Even Tony seemed to realise this.

“Sorry. I will get to the point. Archie got caught shagging around. And his wife is divorcing him. The stupid bastard got caught by the other woman’s husband and it all unravelled from there. He has four kids, all still at school.”

Tony shook his head.

“Why this is all relevant is that Sheila, Archie’s wife, is going to get a big settlement. Her lawyer has demanded one, and Archie’s lawyer says she is going to get most of what she has asked for. In order to keep the removal business he has to give her half the value, or something close to that. Therefore he wants to sell the land to get the coin.”

Andrew finally understood. Tony had the chance to buy out Archie and needed the money.

“How much?”

“He wants £350,000 for his half, but that seems way too high. We were getting less than £5,000 in rent for it. My guess is he will sell for somewhere between £200,000 and £250,000. It is not clear what the two grandfathers paid for it in 1928 but it can’t have been a lot. So this is still an enormous increase.”

“How much money do you need?”

“I have nothing like that kind of money Andrew. I am telling you because I wondered if you wanted to buy it from Archie.”

Andrew sat back. He hadn’t expected that.

“I know I am springing this on you but it was dumped in my lap less than 10 days ago when Archie came round to talk.”

“What is on the site now?”

“It was a building supply company but they have moved to a new location. There is one large warehouse which is close to falling down and the rest is open.”

Andrew thought for a moment.

“I am going to think about this. My instinct is to say yes, but I will need someone who understands property to explain it to me. What that will do is let you understand the options as well. Even if I don’t buy it, I will show you why, okay?”

Andrew remembered back to Creighton’s conversation of a month earlier. This would be still be less than 15% of his investments. Not insurmountable but also something to consider carefully. Andrew knew nothing about property but would ask Mhairi or Doug to find someone to educate him. But the investment aside, Tony had a surprising nest egg.

“Thanks man. The area is housing and factories and an industrial estate now but it is hugely important to me for what it represents. Nobody knows how the two men found the money to buy it in the first place but they did. And I think it led them to an early grave. They were both in the First World War, spent the whole of the 1930s working on that scrubland and then they both had their sons away in the Second World War. They were dead within six months of each other and neither of them lived to be 55. Archie isn’t as sentimental as I am but these two men made their sons rich and their grandsons richer.”

Andrew could see that. What was fascinating for him, was that for first time he saw the appeal of property, how the value could increase so substantially. Now it was over 60 years it wasn’t overnight but it was a reminder from someone who he knew personally. The Duke of Roxburghe had thousands of acres in the Borders yet the land value was nowhere near the same as property close to, or in, a city. Andrew knew he would have to listen carefully with his head and not follow his heart on this.

“I will talk to people tomorrow and see how quickly I can get an answer.”

They finally parked all the money talk.

“Can you stay this evening. You were in and out in an afternoon the last time, Maggie never even got to see you.”

“I can.”

“Good, let me show you what I have shot over the last couple of months.”

Tony and Andrew had very different visual styles. Tony had not attempted to copy what Andrew did on his shoots and Andrew could see the same. Tony was much more of a normal man. In the way that he posed the models. There were three glamour shoots, two beginners and one experienced model and he had one of the fantasy shoots ready for pickup. With the glamour models it was all ‘show us the goodies’. There was a lot of lying back, a fair bit of feigned ecstasy, but a heavy emphasis on tits and pussy shots. Standard men’s magazine fare. One of the new models didn’t ever really relax and Andrew thought it unlikely that she would carry on, doing that at least. But the other two were good shoots. What was interesting was that Tony had used shadows with the fantasy shoot. The woman was naked for a lot of the shoot but there were a lot of outlines, a lot of implied rather than explicit nakedness. Andrew was impressed, and thought about how he could incorporate some of the techniques. He had played with light for years, even the reflections off the river in Norfolk just two months earlier had led him to doing some shoots in the centre of London to see how it affected, and reflected, the shoot. There was always something else to learn, Andrew thought that was why photography appealed to him.