children…' His eyes narrowed. 'You want my Koreans? They're damn good. Mercenaries.
Night fighters.'
'Not good enough for this guy. He'll have the area around the place wired with traps and geophones so's he'd know as soon as they were within fifty yards. He'd kill the children for sure at that, then your Koreans, and he'd be off into the night.'
The big policeman looked at the American. 'If you could lend us a Land Rover tomorrow morning that would be good, but I don't want your men anywhere near the Gully. I don't want anyone around.
'I didn't have a firm plan, before I'd spoken to Mr McDonald, but I do now. If everything is as he said, it'll work.'
'And if it isn't…'
'Then, Everard, I will simply wait, for as long as it takes.'
'For what?'
'For a clear shot. Then I'll just kill the fucker.'
83
It was 7.45 a.m. as they left the Land Rover in the smal copse beside the track which Donald McDonald had shown them the night before.
On the slow drive from the castle, where they had spent the night, and breakfasted with Bal iol, Andy had asked Bob about Pamela, and about their split.
'Later, man, later. I'l tell you and Alex together. But for now we have to concentrate completely on what's to be done here.'
There were no estate workers about as they made their way north, up the climbing, winding track, towards the Gul y. Nor would there be any. On Balliol's orders, McDonald would direct them all to work on the south side of Loch Mhor.
The two policemen were clad in the green trousers and pul overs which the Army had provided for them. Pouches hung on their belts, and each carried a short stubby assault carbine. Skinner's weapon was fitted on top with a cumbersome, awkward-looking device, with an eyepiece.
Even in the early morning cool, they were both sweating as, after a thirty-five-minute trek, they reached the slope which, as their map showed them, led up to King's Gul y. As the factor had described it they could see that, near the top, the grass gave way abruptly to wavy green ferns.
Skinner waved to Martin to stop just at the point where the bracken began, the two of them sitting down, heavily, at the edge of the open grass.
'Okay, Andy,' he said. 'Once we've got our breath back, we'l get into position. You're clear on the plan?'
Martin nodded. He wore a dark green beret to hide his blond hair, and his powerful shoulders bulged in the tight battledress pul over. 'I take up position to the north, behind the house, no closer than one hundred yards away.'
'Right. With your two-way radio on receive. Listen and do as you hear me say. It'll take you longer to get in position than me. I'l wait fifteen minutes before I move in.'
Martin nodded, and snaked off eastward, keeping below the ridge of King's Gul y. Skinner sat on the grass and waited, hefting his carbine, testing and re-testing the device on top. At last, with a final 268 check of his watch he moved off, up towards the crest of the slope, diving into the thick bracken before it opened out into the bowl of the Gully.
He snaked forward slowly and careful y on his belly, taking care so that any disturbance of the thick ferns would look like no more than morning breeze. After a few yards he stopped, and peered through a gap in the undergrowth. He saw the cottage, exactly where the map had promised, and exactly as Donald McDonald had described it. At the side stood a silvery grey car, a hatchback, with a slightly bulbous rear.
He changed course, wriggling to the left of his original approach, parallel with the front of the cottage, careful not to go too close. At last he was in his chosen position, around one hundred yards away from the cottage, directly facing the front door and the wide green-framed window. He smiled. The window stil had no curtain or blind.
From the pouch on the left side of his belt, he took out his two-way radio. 'Ready to go, Andy,' he said quietly, into its microphone.
Next, from the same pouch, he took his mobile phone and laid it on the ground in front of him. Final y he removed a smal headset, with earpiece and mouthpiece, which he put on before plugging its lead into a socket in the phone casing.
Taking a deep breath he switched on his phone, then pressed the short code for the telephone number which he had programmed in the night before: the number which Donald McDonald had given him, the number of the King's Gul y cottage.
The mobile's display lit up, green amidst the bracken. Skinner pressed 'Send', then hefted his carbine up to his shoulder, looking through his very special telescopic sight, and training it on the window beside the black- painted front door of the house.
He heard the ringing in his ear, once, twice, a third time. On the fourth ring a tall, slim, fair-haired figure stepped into the hall, from the left. He was wearing glasses. Framed in the window, Skinner saw him pick up the telephone.
'Good morning, Mr Heuer,' he said calmly and evenly, before the man could speak himself. 'Please don't move a muscle, other than to look down at your shirt. Just left of centre, where you heart is.'
Through the sight, he saw the man look down slowly at a smal red dot on his shirt, a dot which was not printed on, yet which stayed rock-steady.
'That's good,' said Skinner. 'I think you might know what that dot is. Nod if you do.' Very slowly, Peter Gilbert Heuer nodded his head.
'That's right, it's the trace from a laser sight, mounted in this case on an H K carbine, not very far away. I am very, very good with an H K. My name's Bob Skinner, by the way. It's my turn to phone you now.
'As I'm sure you've worked out by now, Mr Heuer, if you drop the phone, or make any attempt to move from the spot on which you're standing right now, that nice wee red dot will turn all of a sudden into a black hole and you will be dead.
'Now.' His voice became rock-hard. 'Where are the children?'
'They are in the kitchen.' Heuer's voice was still flat and calm, but no longer assertive.
'Are they alive?'
'Yes.'
'And they are alone? There is no-one else in the house?'
'No-one.'
'If there is, you're dead, whatever else happens. You know that, Heuer, do you?'
For the first time, the voice was less than calm. 'There is no-one.
I swear.'
Skinner raised his voice, so that it would be picked up by the radio lying in front of him. 'Okay, Andy. Kids in the kitchen. Kick the back door in. Go. Go. Go. Fire two shots when you're clear.'
He held the sight on Heuer. 'If there's any unpleasant surprise waiting in there for my mate,' he said, 'I'll shoot your eyes out. Are you religious?' he asked suddenly, almost conversationally.
'No.' The voice was flat and calm once more.
'I'd give it some thought right now, if I were you. There are a few ghosts waiting for you on the other side. I asked about you, Peter, and now I know what your obsession is.'
He paused, studying Heuer's face through the sight, seeing it twitch, and watching his eyes shift around as he peered through the window into the sunlight.
'You're a contractor,' he pronounced at last. 'Or you were, until you cocked it up. You did wet jobs in the intelligence community.
You were an assassin, Peter, back then, when our paths first crossed.
