Alex nodded. He’d read about it when he’d been working as a ball boy at Wimbledon. It had made the front pages. “The nuclear reactor . . . ,” he said.
Edward nodded. “For a time it looked as if the whole city of Chennai could have been affected.
Fortunately, it wasn’t as bad as that, but a lot of people were killed in the panic. First Aid was up and running the very next day, getting antiradiation stuff to the women and kids, helping with supplies . . .
that sort of thing. Nobody was quite sure how they got off the mark so quickly, but that’s how they work. Instant response. Their aim is to be the first charity in.”
“And you really think this man, McCain, is genuine? That he’s turned a new leaf?”
“You mean . . . do I think he’s another Damian Cray?” Edward smiled briefly. It had been his article exposing Cray as a maniac that had almost got him killed. “Well, I did have my doubts when I first met him. I mean, even if he wasn’t a crook, he was a politician, which didn’t exactly recommend him. But you don’t need to worry, Alex. I did plenty of research into his charity. I interviewed him and a lot of people who know him. I spoke to the police and I opened many old files. The truth is, other than his past, I couldn’t find anything bad to write about him. He really does seem to be a rich man who made a bad mistake and who’s trying to make up for it.”
“How has he managed to buy a castle? If he went bankrupt . . .”
“That’s a good question. After he went to prison, he lost all his money . . . everything. But he had powerful friends—both in business and in politics—and they did what they could to help him out.
Thanks to them, he managed to hang on to Kilmore Castle. He also has a London apartment, and he’s the part owner of a safari camp somewhere in Kenya.” A car suddenly appeared in the road beside them, overtaking. Edward slowed down to let it pass. He watched as it was swallowed up by the whirling snow. “I’ll be interested to hear what you think of McCain,” he muttered.
“Is that why you’re going?”
“When I met him, I mentioned I was planning to be in Scotland for the New Year, and he invited me.
He gave me the tickets, which is just as well, since they cost one thousand dollars each.” Alex let out a low whistle.
“Well, it’s for charity. All the profits will go to First Aid. There’ll be a lot of rich people there tonight.
They’ll raise a fortune.”
There was another brief silence. The road had begun to climb steeply uphill, and Edward shifted down a gear.
“We never really talked about Damian Cray,” Edward muttered.
Alex twisted in his seat. “There’s nothing to say.”
“My book about him sold a million copies. But I never mentioned you, or your part in what happened.”
“I prefer it that way.”
“You saved Sabina’s life.”
“She saved mine.”
“Can I give you some advice, Alex?” Edward Pleasure had to keep his eyes on the road, yet just for a moment he turned them on Alex. “Stay away from all that. MI6, intelligence, all the rest of it. I’ve got a good idea what’s been going on over the past year. Sabina’s told me some of it, but I have contacts in the CIA and I hear things. I don’t want to know what you’ve been through, but believe me, you’re better off out of it.”
“Don’t worry.” Alex remembered what he’d been thinking back at Hawk’s Lodge. “I don’t think MI6
are interested in me anymore. They didn’t even send me a Christmas card. That part of my life is over.
And I’m glad.”
The road was even steeper now, and the trees had fallen away on one side to reveal an expanse of black water, Loch Arkaig, stretching out below. It was still snowing, but the flakes didn’t seem to be making contact with the half-frozen surface, as if the two were somehow canceling each other out. The loch was said to have its own monster—a giant water horse—and looking down, Alex could well believe it.
Loch Arkaig had been left behind by the glaciers. Twelve miles long and in places three hundred feet deep, who could say what secrets it had managed to keep to itself for the past five million years?
And there was Kilmore Castle looming up above him, almost invisible behind the sweeping snow. It had been built on a rocky outcrop, above the loch, completely dominating the surrounding landscape, a massive pile of gray stone with towers and battlements, narrow, slit-like windows, soaring archways, and solid, unwelcoming doors. There was nothing about the place that could have been built for comfort. It existed only to rule and to keep those inside it in power. It was hard to imagine how it had ever fallen or, for that matter, how it had been built. Even the Nissan X-Trail, with its 2.5-liter four-cylinder turbo diesel engine, seemed to be struggling as it negotiated the series of tight hairpin bends that were the only way up. Had soldiers once come here on horseback? What medieval weapons could possibly have penetrated these massive walls?
They were in a line of traffic now with other partygo ers, just visible behind the frosted windows of their cars. The last bend brought them to a wide-open space that had been converted into a parking lot with attendants in Day-Glo jackets frantically signaling where to go. Two fiery torches had been placed on either side of the main entrance, the flames fighting the snow. Men and women in heavy coats, their faces lost behind scarves, were hurrying across the gravel and bundling themselves in. There was something almost nightmarish about the scene. It didn’t look like a party. These people could have been refugees running for their lives from some freak act of nature. All the while dressed to kill.
Edward Pleasure parked the car and Sabina took off her iPod.
“We don’t have to stay until midnight,” Edward told her. “If you want to leave earlier, just let me know.”
