Chapter 7

Mark had a friend who owned a holiday cottage in Ratagan, a tiny village on the shores of Loch Duich at the foot of Glen Shiel in Ross-shire. He thought the remote setting would be ideal for himself and Flick to hide out in and in any event he never tired of the spectacular appearance of the peaks in the area. Despite the circumstances, Mark found his heart lifting at the prospect of some time away with Flick in one of his favourite parts of the country. He decided to keep their destination as a surprise for her, as he knew she would love it too.

"You'll need to pack warmer clothes than that for where we're going," he advised Flick after looking at what she had laid out on the bed. "Remember, this is Scotland. It might be summer but where I have in mind is pretty rugged and you need to plan on walking some of the surrounding hills."

"We need to drop by my apartment then so I can grab my hiking gear," Flick replied, a smile breaking out on her face at Mark's hints of where they were going.

Mark and Felicity's conversation was reported back to the Hamiltons within minutes. Neither of the pair had mentioned the name of the location they were heading for so Roddy and Duncan knew they would need to make sure the tail that had been following them stayed in place, otherwise they would lose track of them.

The watchers had informed the brothers about the failed knife attack on the journalist and both were at a loss as to who might have carried it out.

"You're absolutely sure it had nothing to do with you?" Roddy demanded.

"Bro, I told you after the last effort that I would make sure there were no more slip ups. Fuck knows who else is after this guy, but I can assure you that this wasn't down to us," Duncan replied hotly.

"Fantastic! Now we also need to worry about falling over somebody else - maybe they'll do us a favour and bump the journalist off and save us the trouble. Just make sure our people know there might be somebody else after MacGhee and that they keep their eyes open," said Roddy.

"Of course, I'm not stupid bro."

Mark loaded up the Toyota Land Cruiser he had rented for the trip. The Porche was too small and the Mondeo was in for repairs following the collision with the Honda Civic. Flick's Audi was also in the bodyshop for repair but in any event it would have been too small for the trip.

It was only a short journey across Glasgow to Flick's apartment and as they drew up Mark spotted a 'For Sale' sign in the window.

"I didn't know you had put your apartment on the market already," he said to Flick.

"Mark, that's part of what commitment is all about. I agreed to marry you and to move in with you. Why would I keep this place? It would almost be as if I was hedging my bets - you know - it might not work out with Mark so maybe I should keep my options open and keep my own place just in case. No, it's not going to be like that. I'm fully committed to it being us from now on and part of that is getting rid of this place."

It only took Flick a few minutes to find warmer clothing and her hiking gear. She stowed it all in the back of the Land Cruiser and Mark then headed them out of Glasgow and Northward on the A82. The drive was a chance to let some of the tension of the past few days drain away as they passed through some of Scotland's finest scenery in the West Highlands. Neither of them noticed the car that followed each step of the way once they left Wardlaw Height Gardens.

A hundred and thirty miles and three hours of driving later - passing Loch Lomond, Loch Linnhe, and Loch Lochy and eventually leaving the A82 for the A87 - Mark pulled the Toyota into the small car park of the Invergarry Hotel.

"Let's have some lunch," he said, "I've eaten here before and the food's good."

"How much further do we have to go?" Flick asked.

"I'm not sure, perhaps another hour's drive," Mark replied.

The Invergarry hotel was an old Stagecoach Inn dating back to the late 1800s. Walking inside, the pair soaked up the atmosphere created by the roaring open fire and the dark wood fixtures and fittings of the bar.

"A log fire in the middle of summer! Only in Scotland," Mark joked.

The hotel was clearly a family run affair and moments after they had settled at a table, a cheery woman bustled over to take their order. She handed them both a menu as she welcomed them.

"Welcome to the Invergarry Hotel. As well as what's on the menu there is a 'specials' board over there with chef's selections for today. Drinks can be ordered at the bar but just tell the bar staff to put the charge together with your lunch bill," she said brightly.

"Are you here on holiday?" she asked with natural curiosity.

"Just passing through, we always like to take some time out to just enjoy the highlands," Mark replied, evading making any mention of their destination.

Both of them glanced through the menu and Flick was surprised at how extensive it was given their relatively remote location. She opted for fresh Langoustine in garlic butter and Mark couldn't resist the fresh venison.

"Would you like a drink? We are on holiday," Mark suggested.

Flick laughed at his remark.

"Okay, twist my arm. I'll have a gin and tonic since it's such a prefect day," she replied.

Mark was only a few minutes at the bar and he returned with a tall glass filled with Gordon's gin and tonic water over ice for Flick and a pint of real ale for himself.

"Are you ever going to tell me where we're actually going?" she asked him, taking her first sip of her drink.

"You'll just have to trust me, but I promise you'll love it," he laughed in return.

Service was brisk and friendly and it wasn't long before they had their food in front of them. Conversation dropped off as they gave the well prepared dishes the attention they deserved and both plates were soon cleared in short order.

"God, I'm covered in juice and garlic butter," Flick complained as she used the bowl of water and hand towel provided to try and clean up.

"Go use the ladies, I'll meet you through there in the hotel's private gardens," Mark suggested.

Mark ordered some coffee and wandered outside to the gardens situated at the rear of the hotel. Rustic wooden tables and benches were set out amidst flowerbeds and tall trees cut the area off from the hotel and the nearby road. He took a seat on one of the benches and soaked up some of the warm sunshine, waiting for Flick and the coffee to appear.

They spent a leisurely half-hour over coffee before settling the bill and returning to the Land Cruiser to continue their journey. It was only a further thirty-five miles to Ratagan but it was another hour of driving to negotiate the narrow, twisting road before they arrived.

The road was bordered in parts by high deer fencing and they even managed to spot some of the shy red deer as they manoeuvred round the tight bends in the road. One proud stag stared down at them belligerently, the master of all he surveyed and they both laughed as he pawed at the rock he was standing on and tossed his fine head of antlers.

Mark had to pull over several times to let oncoming cars past as the road narrowed to almost a single lane. At last they turned into Glen Shiel and the gently sloping sides of the glen had Flick squealing with delight at the riot of purple heather climbing both left and right.

Mark aimed the Toyota up a narrow trail once they had passed through the small village of Ratagan and eventually brought them to his friend's cottage. Flick was out of the Cruiser almost before it had stopped, hopping about with excitement.

In front of them was a breathtaking view down the length of Loch Duich with the mountain range the Five Sisters of Kintail away in the distance. Mark knew that the loch was a sea loch and that there was good fishing to be had. There was also some good river fishing on the Shiel. He hoped he could fit some time in for that as he found it an excellent way to relax and on his last visit he had landed some good sized Pollock and Coalfish. Peter, his friend, was sure to have fishing tackle somewhere in the cottage and Mark couldn't think of a better way of staying away from his troubles in Glasgow.

While Flick was still oohing and ahhing about their setting, Mark opened up the cottage and started to unload the Toyota.

The cottage was set out on two floors and was reasonably well appointed - boasting comfortable furnishings and oil-fired central heating. The sitting room had an open fireplace and the kitchen a huge old-fashioned range. Upstairs there were two double bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower fitted over the bath.

Whenever Mark had stayed here before he always found it relaxing and peaceful. The most attractive feature of the cottage however, was the view from every single window. It didn't matter which room you were in, the steep, towering glory of the highland mountains and the loch was only ever a glance away.

The journalist in him wanted to immediately sit down and try to do justice to the setting in words but he knew he would probably fall short so instead he just took a moment to soak it all up, a smile playing across his lips.

Back down the track towards the village, a car had pulled up and inside a man was holding a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. He watched Flick still hopping about in front of the cottage and decided he had found the pair's ultimate destination. Now all he had to do was report in and somehow keep out of sight in this remote backwater while he figured out how to deal with the pair.

It was a relatively simple matter for Drew to identify the officer who had booked Mark for speeding, the offence being a matter of record. He decided to phone one of the Dundee detectives he was friendly with to see if he could get some background on PC MacSween.

"Hi, is that Charlie? How are you doing ya lazy fat bastard?" he joked with his old friend. "I'll bet you couldn't run fifty yards these days without suffering a heart attack!"

"Is that you Drew? Listen son; let me tell you I don't need to go chasing after villains. That's where you always went wrong. Use your head a wee bit more and save your legs son," DI Charlie Lafferty responded.

"Excuses, excuses! You always have an answer don't you Charlie?" Drew laughed again. "Listen, I'm looking for a favour."

"You know me, Drew - always happy to help an old mate, with the emphasis on old."

"I've got a little something brewing down here in Glasgow and the name of one of your uniforms has come up in conversation. I wondered if you knew the guy and could give me a little background on him," Drew explained the reason for his call.

"What's the name?" Lafferty asked.

"PC MacSween, currently on traffic duties perhaps," Drew answered.

"Young Colin MacSween? Sure I know him. Bright boy, rumour going round is that he'll make detective before too long. He's one of the new breed, smart, university graduate and he's already got an impressive rep. What's his name come up in connection with?"

Drew heard his old friend's tone become more guarded and defensive.

"Probably nothing really. He pulled somebody over and gave them a speeding ticket but the suggestion is that there was more to it than that. He pulled the same guy over in a different car the very next day and the allegation is that there's some kind of harassment going on," Drew now added by way of explanation.

"I doubt that very much," Lafferty replied.

"What's he like, Charlie? I'm guessing if he's a graduate then he's from a middle-class background?" Drew asked.

"Not at all, don't let your Glasgow prejudices get in the way of the facts, Drew. His family are genuine working-class and he grew up in quite a rough area. It's a story of a boy from a poor background who worked hard and made good. Straight As at Glebe High School I believe and then on to Dundee University and an honours degree in history."

Drew's antennae twitched at the reference to the school but given the already guarded responses from his old friend he decided not to pursue it with him.

"Aye, you're probably right Charlie. It sounds like a genuine coincidence and somebody down here putting two and two together and coming up with five. Thanks for the background mate. Now, what have you been getting up to lately? It's been nearly a year since we last met up," said Drew.

After catching up with what was new in Charlie's life, Drew hung up and contemplated what he had learned. The fact that the Dundee PC had attended Glebe High School could well be a coincidence but there were too many coincidences popping up in this case for his liking. Something smelled wrong and he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

He wondered to himself once more how the knife attacker fitted-in. The man had been arrested on the outskirts of Pollock Park and identified as Jason Welsh, a lawyer with a well-known Glasgow firm. Drew had interviewed Welsh and the outcome left him with more questions than answers.

The man had no criminal background and no criminal connections so far as Drew could see. His explanation of why he had been in the tearoom and why he had picked on Mark MacGhee as his intended victim also left Drew with no leads. Welsh's story was bizarre - he claimed that a voice in his head had told him where to go and what to do, singling out MacGhee for death and informing Welsh that he was the agent who would carry out the killing. He couldn't explain why he felt that he had to obey the voice - it was as if he had no other option but to do as he had been told.

"I had to do it for the Church," he said when interrogated.

Try as he might, Drew couldn't elicit any further detail of what the church had to do with Welsh's actions and he concluded the man was mentally ill.

He ordered psychiatric assessments be carried out but apart from that one episode of apparently hearing a voice command him to kill the journalist, the shrinks couldn't find anything wrong with Welsh. On the face of it he was a young, successful lawyer on his way up with a well-respected legal firm.

Neither had Drew been able to find any connections between Welsh and the other incidents involving Mark MacGhee. Welsh had attended school and university here in Glasgow and had no connections with Dundee at all so far as he could see. So, there was no apparent motive to speak of and no logical explanation for what Welsh had tried to do.

Not for the first time in this case, Drew scratched his head at the puzzling facts he had to work with. Nothing seemed to add up but he knew there had to be a connection somewhere and he was determined to find it. Find it and he was sure it would lead him to the Hamilton brothers.

Kenny had been busy. Using the access details from his Russian convert he accessed the main computer system of the St Petersburg State University. Kenny chuckled to himself as he browsed through the system and discovered that both the former Russian President, Vladimir Putin and his successor, Dimitry Medvedev had studied at the university.

Using all of his computer know-how, Kenny wormed his way deeper and deeper into the system, easily cracking administrator passwords as he went. The most difficult part of navigating was knowing the language but after that it was pretty straightforward, administrators in St Petersburg were as dumb as elsewhere - in many cases leaving the password as the default factory setting.

Kenny had worked non-stop over the two-day weekend designing a web-site for what he thought might turn out to be a good money-spinner. Unfortunately it was also very illegal and liable to get him locked up for a long time if he was caught. That was why he was burrowing into the Russian system, getting right into the heart of the servers that powered it. Kenny's plan was to set the web-site up on a number of different servers around the world. That way if any police force tried to track the site down he could quickly lose them with switches and his own form of cyber booby-trap warfare. Everything was being set up using proxies and Kenny was sure no one would ever be able to trace the true source of the web-site and its content.

He had contacted one of his former pupils who was now working in the banking sector and the man had supplied him with details of how to set up an offshore bank account, an account with total privacy. The bank charges for such accounts were ludicrously high but worth every penny for the secrecy and anonymity they afforded. Kenny had already established an account in the name of the Church of Cyberscience and he had watched the funds slowly, steadily, increase. Now he was determined to speed up the rate of growth and his web-site would hopefully provide the cash. Payments for access to the content would be made electronically and routed through a number of cut-outs until they finally disappeared into the offshore account.

Of course, the fact that Kenny had such fun producing the content for the planned web-site was an added bonus.

He had called the site Sugar and Spice and it was designed to part the world's paedophiles from their money. So far Kenny didn't have a lot of variety in terms of content - he had only had time to film three of his latest programmed young schoolgirls - but he could make up for that by way of volume at first.

The important thing for the website was that all of the girls were young, the younger the better. Kenny was already ordering all of the converts he had on his database to give him a full run down on their immediate family members and near neighbours. He judged it would be relatively risk free to have them capture the images he needed and send them to him. That way he wouldn't be connected with or traced through the girls who appeared on his site.

Kenny made some final fine adjustments and then began to test that all of the threads and links on the site worked as they should. The most difficult part of the coding had been in building the routines that would allow him to extract details and money from people's credit cards.

He clicked on an image of a thirteen year old girl he had named Kitten for the site. The picture showed her looking nervous and shy with her head slightly bowed and one finger in her mouth.