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At Fort William, a handwritten sign on a torn piece of cardboard tied to a post with string stated the market would be held the next day. Scott searched through the groups of traders who had arrived early. He went from one to another asking about the slavers. Most were tight-lipped, many would not engage in conversation and some even turned their backs to him.
Odd, something’s up. There was a familiar face. The black market pharmacist was always keen to let him know what she knew.
“Aye, handsome, I do ken. Well, I’ve heard there’s a house a wee way back the way ye came from, off the road like, where in the past they have kept them afore they move south with ‘em. Hope that’s a help to ye. Your wee wifey and your lassie ye say?”
Scott gave a grave nod, then reached out and hugged her.
“I never thanked ye for saving my daughter that time. Well, I thank ye now.” He finished with a brief nod and turned to be on his way.
Scott soon halted at the sight of the young man standing before him, a reflection of himself in his twenties. The tall man stood to attention, dressed in full combat gear, holding a helmet in his hand and with a machine gun strapped over his shoulder. He was wet with the rain, which dripped through his deep-red hair, down his face and through his neat beard. He blinked as the side of his mouth curled.
“Dad!” The young man’s face broke with a smile as he stepped forward and embraced him.
“Rory?” Scott recognised the firm, ropey arms around him, now even stronger. “Rory, is that you? Ye have grown up son!”
“Aye, Dad. It’s been five years since Mum died and you left.” Rory’s blue eyes searched his.
“Well, son you are just in time.” Hope welled in Scott’s chest. “Slavers have stolen your mother and sister. We’ve got to get them, now, before it’s too late.”
Rory had arrived at the best moment.
Rory blinked a few times and shook his head. The rain pattered on the shoulders of his SAPI vest. “Aye Dad, but we need to talk. Where can we go to have a quick private conversation?” Rory looked around at the gathering audience of admiring stall holders.
Rory’s exceptionally masculine appearance was now the centre of female attention. Not to mention the stares his military-kit received from the male onlookers. Scott took Rory by the arm and briskly walked to the 4WD.
“Son, oh, it’s braw to see you. But I dinnae want to waste time talking. I need to get to your mother!” His hope now wrestled with his impatience.
“Kelly met up with you, then? Did she tell you they want to prosecute you for stealing the time journey?”
“Oh aye, she said they’d send someone back. Will it be soon? Did ye come to warn me too?”
“No, Dad. They sent me.”
Scott stopped mid-stride and stared into his son’s vivid blue eyes, so like his own when he last looked in a mirror. Him?
“You will take me back? Why?...No, I understand why. It’s the why you I dinnae understand.” Rory opened his mouth to speak but he cut him off. “Dinnae have time for this! Will you please help me get your mother and sister back? Then we’ll discuss it!”
Scott and Rory got into the vehicle and drove south out of Fort William and continued along the A82 the way he had come. They travelled halfway along the road beside Loch Linnhe where Alistair now approached with the horses. Scott drove the vehicle off the road and hid it by some trees. Alastair followed with the horses.
Scott and Rory stepped out of the vehicle as Alistair dismounted Adam.
“Rory this is Alistair...our boarder.” Scott wasn’t sure how to describe the lad. Boarder would have to do.
“Alistair, this is my son Rory...from the future.” He made the hurried introductions. The young men shook hands.
“Pleased to meet you,” Alistair said in his Canadian accent. Rory stared at Alistair with wide eyes.
“You’re our Canadian cousin in Glencoe!”
“I am?”
“It’s a long story. I’ll tell you later.”
“Aye, because we have miles to cover and a job to do.” Scott interjected. How could they be talking general chit-chat when they had their women to save? He clenched his fists at his side to control his annoyance. Anger wouldn’t help now. Well, not just yet, anyway. “So, I’ve found out there’s a holding house. It’s supposedly down this road and off a wee bit. And I’ll take no argument from ye both. I’m offering myself as a trade.”
“But why, Dad?” Rory asked.
“I can go on the lines of experienced mercenary. They may get more on the black market for one. Leaders, or those who think they’re important, have their own private armies now, ye ken.”
“No Scott,” Alistair spoke up. “We can do it. Rory looks like action man, and you and I know how to fight.” Alistair pleaded into his face. Then he turned to Rory. “What do you say, Rory? We’ll storm the place, yeah?”
“But...” Scott tried to interrupt. The lad thinks he can fight? But Rory can.
“No, Dad. If they don’t accept your offer, you’re captured.” Rory pointed out.
“And Kelly and Caitlin still won’t be free.” Alistair said.
“We’ll end up storming the place anyway and you won’t be able to help us.” Rory explained.
Scott bowed his head and nodded. He hadn’t thought it all through. He was so glad Rory had arrived. What a level-headed soldier he had grown to be. If he had time and room enough in his emotional space just now, he’d be proud.
Scott and Alistair rode to the holding house on horseback, and Rory ran beside them.
“Wow, you’re pretty fit, Rory,” Alistair commented.
“Aye. And who’s action man, anyway?”
***
THEY REACHED THE OUTSKIRTS of the property and settled under a large oak tree which gave them a view of the run-down crofter’s cottage, the supposed holding-house. They tied the horses behind the tree and began their reconnaissance. Rory looked through his high-powered binoculars.
“This holding house is the usual abandoned wreck. It’s got a roof, only just. The glazing in the windows is non-existent.” Rory moved his binoculars to view each section of the cottage. “There’s a guard front and back. I reckon eight men inside. Mostly women captives. I think I see Mum and Kelly. Wow. Mum’s young! I know that’s obvious but knowing it and actually seeing her is something else!”
Scott grabbed the binoculars from Rory’s hand. “Where?”
“Back window, near the kitchen sink. They must be on mess duty.” Rory’s voice was in Scott’s ear, the binoculars still strung around Rory’s neck.
Scott pointed the binoculars in that direction. Caitlin and Kelly collected water and then sorted crockery for the evening meal. Scott gave the binoculars back to Rory, who then counted fifteen hostages and ten slavers in total.
“What’s that? A fire? No...smoke and lots of it. The guy doesn’t seem to be bothered though.” Rory shook his head slightly.
“Lemme see?” Alistair held out his hand for the binoculars, his fingers wriggling with impatience.
Rory took the binoculars from around his neck and handed them to Alistair. Rory’s brow was a ridge of furrows. Alistair grabbed the lenses and hurriedly put them to his eyes.
“Thought so. It’s Brian, the guy who vapes. McSweeny’s second in command. Arrogant bastard, excuse me. Now we’re sure it’s slavers. We’ve got to get them out of there!” Alistair spoke directly to Scott, his eyes wide, his gaze flicked from Scott to Rory and back again. “Now!”
“Aye, we will, but we need a plan, son. No rushing in and getting ourselves and our women killed.” Scott stared the lad down, they needed cool heads for what they were about to do. “We draw as many slavers out as we can and dispose of ‘em. Then we go in for the rest. When they hear the action, Caitlin and Kelly will grab a weapon and join in or lie low. Either way, their safety is our priority. Shoot to kill anyone who gets between us and our women. We wait till almost dark,” he commanded. He may have been foolish with his original plan, but he was in charge.
The men crept closer and hid behind a large boulder in the grounds, and observed for the next hour, waiting for the half light of dusk. They would begin their attack once the slavers started their meal.
***
CAITLIN’S DAMP CLOTHES still stuck to her. Now in the shelter of this abandoned crofter’s cottage she was drying out. The slavers had assigned Caitlin and Kelly cooking duty and moving around would help them warm up. The kitchen had running water, amazingly. Photographs of the family who’d lived here were still on the wall. The tattered calendar had a picture of the Kelpies near Falkirk and the month was November 2017.
“McSweeny’s gettin’ hungry. Hurry up, bitch.” His name was Brian, but she’d never call him that. Caitlin glanced over at him. He watched her every move.
“We’ve been waitin’ a while for you. Make sure you’re worth it. McSweeny lost good men last time. Won’t happen again.”
Boy, this guy was cocky. McSweeny was tough, and angry—a simmering anger. She’d seen it before in patients and their relatives. Something had happened to him.
Well, something had happened to everyone.
The simple meal was rice, the expiry date was last year sometime, and a meat with tomatoe sauce. Caitlin didn’t even want to look at the expiry date on that can. She prepared this for McSweeny and his men. What were the women going to eat? They were tied-up in the living room, except for the one in the room.
Caitlin served the meal.
“Get a plate. The largest one, aye. He’s got a good appetite.” Brian led her to the room where McSweeny sat at a table. There was only one chair.
“Let’s see what sort of cook you are.” McSweeny looked up from his paperwork. His gaze was dark. He addressed her guard. “The other bitch can serve you and the men out there. Keep your eye on the merchandise, Brian.”
The door shut. Caitlin walked over and placed the plate on the table in front of him and stepped back. She scanned the room—peeling wallpaper, a partially boarded window, the dirty table and chair McSweeny sat on, gun on a holster over his shoulder, body odour permeated the room. She flicked her eye back to the handgun, probably a semi-automatic. A Glock.
McSweeny picked up the fork that stuck in the rice and stared at her beneath his eyebrows while he shovelled the food into his mouth. His blue jumper had holes around the neck, and it looked like he’d worn it for months, years maybe. Tomatoe dribbled out of the side of his mouth and down his chin.
“You look disgusted.” McSweeny startled her out of her assessment of him.
She didn’t answer.
“You wonder how I got here. Well, so do I.”
What? Was he going to give his Confession to her now? He must think she was condemning him by her silence. Well, let him.
“I didn’t choose to be like this, just trying to survive in a mental world.” McSweeny shovelled another fork-full into his mouth.
So, he wanted to talk. Well, she’d talk. “We all lost someone dear to us.”
He flicked his stare back to her. She’d struck a chord.
“It’s how we respond to it that determines who we are.” See what he made of that. See if he had any conscience left.
“You think I’m unfair. Well, like you said, we all lost something when the stock market crashed. Stuff happened to me, why shouldn’t it happen to anyone else? Don’t begin to judge me.” His face contorted in disgust. “You don’t know what’s been dished up to me by fate, the Universe, God...whatever you want to call it!”
Close proximity gunfire sounded through the walls. He stopped speaking.