10

‘Looks as though we’re heading for the edge of the bloody world,’ said Marshall, as he wiped the steamed-up windscreen with the back of his hand. ‘I hope you know where we’re going?’

‘Just about on the Piper’s Pass,’ Grant replied. ‘I’ve been here a couple of times, but that’s all. Do you have any idea what they’re doing here, Mr Watson?’

‘Aye, I have that. Geordie McCallum has a croft jeest a bit further on. Keeps some sheep, chickens and the like, grows neeps and cabbages. He’s got a lobster boat, too, down in the bay. I’ll tell you this, you couldn’t find a more isolated spot on the whole peninsula to be up to no good, and that’s a fact.’

Marshall grinned. ‘Looks as though we’ve struck lucky here. This could well be their base of operations. I wouldn’t be surprised if those two strangers were prospective clients come to sample the wares before they buy. This is just what we were after.’

Sergeant Grant said nothing as they drove on between the steep hills. He watched a swollen burn charge into a culvert below the road, a riot of white froth and peat-stained water. He’d heard stories about the Piper’s Pass, and though he wasn’t a particularly superstitious man, a shiver ran down his back, making him flinch at the wheel. He’d been dubious about Hoynes’ involvement in an alleged smuggling operation, but he had to concede that something wasn’t right.

‘Can you hear that?’ said Marshall, his head cocked to one side. Despite the rain, he cracked open the passenger window.

‘Will you close that!’ shouted Watson from the back. ‘I’m getting soaked here.’

‘Who would be playing bagpipes in this weather?’ Marshall frowned.

Looking in his rear-view mirror, Grant caught a look of apprehension cross Watson’s face. ‘I never heard a thing,’ he said nervously.

Marshall persisted. ‘I know the skirl of the pipes when I hear them.’

They carried on along the narrow pass in silence.

All of a sudden the road dipped. They were heading into a broad valley now, the single-track road snaking into the distance under the glowering sky.

‘Nearly there,’ said Geordie. ‘Jeest a few hundred yards now.’ Between a gap in the hills, the grey waters of the North Channel were visible.

‘I widna be happy being oot on the ocean the night,’ said Hoynes, spotting the red corrugated-iron roof of Geordie’s bothy in the distance.

‘We’ll be fine once we get a fire going,’ said Hamish.

Geordie slowed the vehicle and turned onto a rough path, at the end of which sat a small stone building, abutted on both sides by small wooden structures – barns would have been too grand a name for them.

‘Right, gentlemen,’ he said, pulling up outside the bothy. ‘Here we are, a home fae home.’

Rather unsteadily, the passengers got out of the vehicle and waited, shivering, while the small man pushed open the door. In the gloom he made his way to a windowsill upon which sat an oil lantern. After fiddling in his pocket for a lighter, he managed to put flame to the wick, and soon the cottage was bathed in a pale, flickering light.

‘It’s a bit gloomy whoot wae these tiny windows. If you give me a couple o’ minutes, I’ll get the other lanterns lit and put a match tae the fire. We’ll be fair toasty in no time.’

‘I see you’ve peat in the fire already, Geordie,’ noted Hoynes.

‘Aye, I always leave it set – even in the summer. You canna beat a peat fire.’

‘It’s just like Brigadoon,’ said Ralph excitedly, making himself comfortable on an old couch. ‘Exactly what the doctor ordered. We’ve been up in Scotland for months now, and all we’ve seen is the inside of the plane and the barracks.’

‘And the Douglas Arms,’ said Bertie.

With another two lanterns lit, Geordie busied himself lighting the fire with scrunched-up pieces of old newspaper. The heavy rain beat a tattoo on the iron roof. The bothy appeared to be a one-room affair, with various old chairs and the couch gathered around the fireplace. In a corner of the room a flimsy-looking camp bed was covered by a grey blanket, while on the other side of the dwelling sat an old pot-bellied stove and a tiny basin.

‘No’ much in the way of home comforts,’ observed Hamish. ‘Where’s the cludgie?’

‘Och, I jeest pee in thon bucket while I’m here. But if it’s the secondary function you need to oblige, there’s a dry closet oot the back. It can be a bit breezy in the wind, mind – I keep meaning tae get that hole in the wall fixed,’ said Geordie as he got to his feet and lit his pipe.

‘Damn near the Savoy, my bonnie lads,’ said Hoynes, producing two bottles of whisky from a duffel bag. ‘Here, I’ll put on the wireless.’

Amidst a crackle and a high-pitched whine, the sound of twanging guitars backing a distinctive baritone could be heard. The five men listened in silence for a while, as drams were handed round in chipped mugs. The fire began to smoulder.

‘Whoot on earth is that racket?’ asked Hamish, his face screwed up.

‘That’s the Rolling Stones,’ replied Bertie. ‘My boy plays them all the time on a little Dansette record player his mother was stupid enough to buy him.’

‘The Rolling Stones, eh?’ said Hoynes, sounding as though the words were something new to him.

‘As far as I’m concerned, they can jeest keep rolling – as far away as possible,’ said Hamish. ‘For me, you canna beat Jimmy Shand. Have a fiddle aboot wae that wireless and get us some proper music on, skipper, before thon wailing drives me mad.’

‘Och, you’re no’ like a young man at all, Hamish. You should be up there gyratin’ aboot like these young folk I see wae Pete Murray every Saturday on the television. If I was young you widna be able tae keep me back. There wiz nae such thing as the permissive society when I wiz a young buck. And it’s still no’ arrived in my hoose tae this day,’ Hoynes observed, somewhat ruefully.

‘Can’t you get no satisfaction then, mate,’ said Ralph, making his fellow pilot guffaw. The three fishermen were bemused. ‘Oh, never mind,’ he said with a smile.

‘Wait the noo,’ said Geordie. ‘There’s another Land Rover at the road end. Who the hell can be oot on a night like this?’

‘They’ll see us, Sergeant Grant,’ said Marshall, a note of panic in his voice.

‘Aye, well, they’ll have to sometime,’ replied Grant, turning the vehicle onto the track that led down towards Geordie’s bothy.

‘What if they’re disposing of the evidence?’

‘That would be a neat trick,’ chortled Watson. ‘There’s no such thing as plumbing away out here.’

‘Is that a crown on the side?’ asked Hamish, peering through the tiny window, Hoynes at his side.

‘It’s no’ the Fishery Officer, is it?’ said Hoynes, his nose pressed to the glass.

‘Whoot would it matter if it was, Sandy? There’s no’ a fish tae be had in the place.’

‘I’ve got a couple o’ tins o’ sardines in the press thonder,’ said Geordie.

‘Och, you widna put anything past that Watson,’ replied Hoynes. ‘He’d likely find an excuse tae impound them, no matter that they’re fae Spain and got tinned before the auld king died.’

‘Are you worried aboot oor freen wae the eight legs, skipper?’

‘Wait,’ said Hoynes, relief in his voice. ‘Is that no’ oor Duncan?’

‘Aye, but look who he’s wae,’ groaned Hamish in dismay.

Sure enough, Duncan Grant, Iain Watson the Fishery Officer, and a smartly-dressed man whom neither of them knew were out of the Land Rover and making their way to the front door.

‘Turning into quite a party,’ quipped Ralph. ‘The more the merrier, I say.’

‘Gie me another gulp o’ that whisky, Hamish. I don’t like the look o’ this at all,’ said Hoynes as three businesslike knocks sounded at the door.

‘Sandy, Hamish, Geordie, open up!’ shouted Grant. ‘We need to have a word with you.’

‘Och, I knew fine I should have got that light fixed on the motor. I’ve been meaning tae dae it for ages,’ moaned Geordie.

‘They widna come all this way tae pull you up aboot a tail-light, Geordie. Oor Duncan’s straight as a dye, but even he’s no’ that keen,’ said Hoynes.

‘An’ how wid he bring Watson wae him?’ said Hamish.

‘I’d better open the door,’ said Geordie. ‘We’ll soon find oot.’

‘Just stay here for a minute, Beth,’ said Maggie. ‘Look, they’re all away into the cottage now. My poor Duncan all unsuspecting, likely, not realising he’s about to be spirited out of the country to bugger knows where.’

‘And there’s thon snake, Watson,’ said her mother. ‘Your faither won’t be happy at the sight o’ him hoving intae view. The Piper’s Pass was fair busy the night, an’ no mistake.’

The women looked on as the door closed behind the three new arrivals. ‘I canna think Iain Watson wid be part o’ any caper,’ said Beth. ‘I mean, I don’t think I’ve ever seen him smile – that poor wife o’ his has got a terrible life. She must be fair miserable sitting in that cottage while he plots tae bring doon another decent fisherman trying tae make a living.’

‘Well, one thing’s for sure,’ said Marjorie. ‘We’ll not learn anything sitting away back here. We’ll park up behind these whin bushes, Beth. Then we can sneak over and surprise them before they get a chance to overpower my Duncan.’

‘Overpower’s a wee bit strong, dear. This is your faither and Hamish we’re talking aboot. The last thing they overpowered wiz a fish or two – aye, an’ no’ that recently, neither.’ Marjorie pursed her lips.

‘And forbye that, we’ll get drenched,’ declared Beth.

‘It’s all for the greater good. Come on. It’s taken me long enough to find a husband. I’ll be damned if he’s whisked off to the Levant before I get a ring on his finger.’

‘Och, jeest your faither a’ o’er,’ said Marjorie.

‘Where the hell’s the Levant?’ asked Beth as, pulling her raincoat over her head, Maggie jumped out of the Land Rover and into the rain.