Mr Petrie knocked on Gordon Buie’s bedroom door and as it opened, the old man held his finger to his lips, nodding in the direction of the sofa where Duncan was lying fast asleep. "I think the events of the last few days have finally caught up with him.
“I couldn’t believe my eyes when you walked in to the breakfast room. You must have ran straight to the airport and jumped on the first plane to St Petersburg after we spoke,” he said in hushed tones.
“I can’t go in to specific details, Gordon, but your instincts served you well and I am glad you called me, but I am going to ask you to take a big leap of faith and trust what I am about to say without question. Your grandson is in grave danger and is being targeted by dark forces, powerful men in powerful places who do very bad things.”
The grandfather nodded in a resigned fashion and sighed: “It’s his parents, isn’t it? Their work has come back to haunt us. I’ve been in denial really since the time of their accident, the helicopter crash and the break-in. Some things just didn’t add up, but I was too wrapped up in grief that I just wanted to focus on something good and that was Duncan”.
"As I said Gordon, your instincts have served you well and perhaps your lack of curiosity has also acted as a self-preservation filter. My job now is to get us all back to Sweetheart as soon as is humanly possible, but I need you to feign illness in order for me to arrange an emergency flight to Edinburgh.
“A Learjet will be landing at Pulkova in around thirty minutes’ time and an ambulance will collect us from the hotel at around the same time. There’ll be a few flashing lights, sirens and a wee bit of drama, but this has to look convincing, Gordon. Our lives depend on it. I remember you gave a brilliant portrayal of King Lear when you were a lad at Sweetheart, so I know you can do it.”
Both men raised a smile at the memory of the performance. “I’m going to give you an injection which will send you to sleep and I promise you won’t feel any pain. When you come around, we’ll be well on our way to Edinburgh.”
Mr Petrie reached inside his coat for the hypodermic needle which already contained the knockout drops needed to render Gordon Buie unconscious. As he administered the shot, Duncan Dewar had opened his eyes and witnessed his grandfather being injected and losing consciousness. He closed his eyes tight and pretended to be still asleep while he tried to understand what he had just seen.
So many questions were swirling around his head. Why was his history master trying to harm his grandfather? Had Mr Petrie just killed him? He heard Mr Petrie walk past him and leave the bedroom through the main door, but where was he going and how long would he be?
He jumped up and felt for his grandfather’s pulse. To his relief, he was still alive and so he tried to shake him and wake him up. He didn’t know when Mr Petrie would return and just then the door opened and it was the housekeeping maid.
“Quick, quick, you have to help me. We need to get my grandfather out of here. Someone is trying to kill him.” The maid was surprised, momentarily, and felt for a pulse.
She looked around and asked: “Is there anyone else here?”
Duncan cried: “No, there’s no one. We’re all alone. We’ve got to get him out of here before Mr Petrie returns. Help me, please.” Again the maid felt for a pulse, told Duncan to wait and then wheeled in her housekeeping trolley of sheets, towels and cleaning equipment.
By this time the boy was kneeling by his grandfather, urging him to wake up. “Don’t worry, help is on its way,” said the maid in a soothing voice. Suddenly he heard her gasp and then she fell clumsily on top of him before rolling on her back still clutching a hand towel. He turned around and saw Mr Petrie standing over him with what looked like a tiny, metal dart. The boy cowered and closed his eyes, instinctively covering his head with his hands.
“Hey laddie, what’s wrong with you?” asked Mr Petrie in gentle tones.
Duncan sprang to his feet, trembling and shouting: “I don’t know who you are anymore! You’ve tried to kill my grandfather and now you’ve just killed the maid.”
Mr Petrie put down the dart and grabbed the boy by his shoulders, shaking him. “Stop this hysteria. It doesn’t suit you. Your grandfather is alive and as for the maid, how many maids do you know who carry this is their cleaning bucket?” Mr Petrie bent down and removed a towel from the woman’s right hand to reveal a revolver fitted with a silencer.
“If I hadn’t walked in when I did, you would have a hole in the back of your head the size of a golf ball. Far from trying to kill you, I’ve just saved your life – and not for the first time either, laddie! All of this!” he exclaimed, waving his arms around the room: “all of this was done for you.”
He then dragged Duncan over to the side of the balcony and, twitching the net curtain, said: “There are some very bad people out there who would do you harm. And if you look closely at the rooftop opposite, you’ll see one of them. He has a gun and telescopic sights trained on this room and if he can get you in his crosshairs, he’ll pull the trigger so stay away from the windows.”
Kneeling down, Mr Petrie opened his briefcase and a puff of chilled air rose out of it before quickly evaporating. “Time is running out and I’ve one more thing to do now, which will probably cause further confusion in your mind. Duncan, do you trust me?”
The boy looked at his history master and stammered: “I’m not sure. I don’t know who you are anymore. For all I know, you’ve killed my grandfather and just murdered a maid.”
He plunged his hand inside the briefcase and pulled out a full-sized crossbow which, in itself, defied logic since it was three times the size of the case in terms of length. Putting his hand back inside the case, he seemed to be grappling or feeling around for something else and pulled out a pair of asbestos-coated gloves.
Duncan watched in silence as Mr Petrie donned the gloves before reinserting his left hand inside the amazing case to pull out a long silver container the size and shape of a thermos flask. He watched in silence as the flask was twisted open.
He couldn’t quite work out the contents but noticed another wisp of chilled air rising from within the flask. He’d seen something similar in chemistry when the master had produced a block of dry ice as an illustration of what a solid form of carbon dioxide looks like. Still protected by the gloves, Mr Petrie picked up what looked like a bolt contained in the flask and slid it carefully into the flight groove of the crossbow.
Duncan asked: “What is that?”
He turned around with an enigmatic smile and replied: “Let’s call it ‘The Spear of Merrick’.” He then gently said to the schoolboy: “I need you to remain calm, and you’re doing an excellent job so far. Now when I give the signal, gently slide the balcony door back three or four inches which will be just enough to allow me to take aim.”
The boy silently did as he was told and watched in amazement as his Scottish history master appeared to morph into a cold-blooded assassin. Focussing his eyes through the crossbow’s telescopic sights, he took aim and fired the ice bolt across the canal. Moments later, a body plunged headlong in to the canal from the building opposite.
“The bolt was made from dry ice. By the time the police get there, it will have evaporated and all evidence gone,” said Mr Petrie. He returned the crossbow inside the mysterious case which seemed to have an endless capacity before placing the silver flask inside too.
Scanning the room quickly for anything left behind, he then picked up the poisoned dart he’d used on the maid. Just then, the wails of an ambulance siren could be heard in the street below and Mr Petrie turned to the boy, saying: “The ambulance heading this way is for your grandfather. It’s time to leave, but first help me drag this woman into the bathroom.”
As they unceremoniously dragged her feet first across the floor, Duncan let out a gasp. “I’ve just seen her eyes move.”
Mr Petrie replied: “She will make a full recovery in a few hours as the effects of the poisoned dart wear off. It contains a modified version of snake venom from the Common krait, also known as Bungarus caeruleus. Ever heard of it?”
Duncan looked incredulously at Mr Petrie. ‘How could he remain so calm?’ he wondered. Minutes later, having alerted the reception desk, paramedics came to their room and stretchered out an unconscious Gordon Buie accompanied by Duncan and the history master. In silence, they rode with the patient in the back of an ambulance as it hurtled towards the airport.
Once there, the ambulance was driven straight on to the tarmac to a designated area where the Learjet air ambulance was waiting. After a quick look through the paperwork and examining of passports, they boarded the plane and it took off almost immediately having been given special clearance by the flight tower.
The only others who remained on board were the pilot, co-pilot and a nurse. A few minutes into the flight, she appeared and gave Mr Buie an injection, reassuring Duncan: "He is fine and will gain consciousness in a few minutes. You’re safe now, Duncan. Isn’t that right, Mr Petrie? He nodded and smiled and then looked at Duncan with a more serious expression on his face.
“I suppose, laddie, you want some answers. Well, I should warn you to be careful what you wish for, but you are sensible and not usually given to histrionics, so brace yourself. What I am about to tell you is something far beyond your wildest imagination.”
Mr Petrie then took Duncan through the whole, incredible history and timeline of his thirteen years. The boy experienced shock, anger, sorrow, rage and bewilderment and a few other emotions known to man in a period of about fifteen minutes. “I know it’s a lot for anyone to take in, but you are capable and mature, Duncan. I would never have told you, had I not thought you could disseminate the information in a calm and rational way.”
“You said back in the room that you’d saved my life before was that when I was in the car?”
He nodded and said: “You were belted in and asleep in a baby seat in the back of the car. You wouldn’t have stood a chance in that inferno.”
Duncan was trembling and his eyes welled up as he asked: “How, how much does my grandfather know?” There was a silence and then a third voice broke into the conversation: “Your grandfather knows as much as you do now, it seems.” Both turned around in surprise; Gordon Buie had awoken from his deep sleep half way through Mr Petrie telling the story to Duncan.
"Welcome back, Gordon. You missed some excitement in the hotel room but I’ll let Duncan tell you later. Suffice to say we are homeward bound and your grandson is safe for the time being, but for how long remains to be seen. While you were in the land of nod, there were two more attempts on his life, so whoever ‘they’ are, they are becoming more desperate and determined.
Duncan hugged his grandfather and said: “I thought Mr Petrie was trying to kill you!” They all laughed partly with relief and partly through a fear of the unknown that somehow brought them all together stronger and more solid than ever.
About an hour before landing, Mr Petrie turned to his fellow travellers and said: “I am still the Scottish History Master at Sweetheart and so, I would ask you both to keep my other activities a secret.”
They nodded solemnly in agreement and then Duncan Dewar asked: “Who do you really work for, Mr Petrie? Are you like a James Bond?”
The history master chuckled and said: "Do I look like the sort of man who would drink a martini and have glamorous women falling at my feet? Gracious no, laddie. I’m no special agent but you can rest assured of one thing and that is, I do work for the good guys, which is why I am trying to keep you both out of harm’s way.
"I’ve phoned ahead and the school gardener, Douglas Sinclair, will meet us at Edinburgh. Oh, and I’ve also spoken with Dr Jones and informed him of our dramatic exit but reassured him that Gordon is making a rapid recovery. I blamed the Russians for a misdiagnosis and said it was nothing more than extreme indigestion. However, it seems he’s more concerned about you Duncan because the choir has been invited to perform before the local mayor but the show will now have to go on without you!
“Your absence will throw Mrs Volkova into deep despair,” laughed Mr Petrie. This time, however, he could not have been more wrong. Svetlana Volkova and her husband were relieved to hear that Duncan Dewar and his grandfather were no longer in St Petersburg. “It is out of our hands now, thank God! They know we had nothing to do with the ambulance flight and we are off the hook,” Viktor told his relieved wife.
“Apparently, Mr Petrie organised the medical evacuation because the old man developed crippling chest pains which later turned out to be a chronic dose of indigestion and wind. I tell you Svetlana that schoolmaster is either a meddling old fool or a genius and I can’t work out which.”
***