standing stones on its crest.
“I’ll be back for ye in the morning,” said the boatman.
“Don’t be late,” urged Freda. “I’ve got to be at work at nine.”
Matthew had an uneasy feeling that he shouldn’t have paid the whole fare in advance. The boatman was a surly, criminal-looking fellow. What if he didn’t come back for them?
Too late now, he thought as he and Freda hoisted rucksacks onto their shoulders and climbed up to the ring of stones, which looked like great black fingers pointing up to the beauty of the night sky.
After they had found a slab of masonry to sit on and were drinking Freda’s contribution of coffee and Matthew’s of whisky, they chatted about this and that until they fell silent.
Matthew began to wonder what on earth he could write. And then he began to feel uneasy. He had never considered himself oversensitive or imaginative, but he began to feel the island didn’t want them there. It was as if dislike were emanating from the very ground.
“I read up on this place,” he said, breaking the silence. “It used to be joined to the land.”
Freda shivered and edged closer to him. “It’s getting colder.”
“Why don’t we get into our sleeping bags and have another drink?” suggested Matthew.
“Good idea.”
They snuggled into their sleeping bags. Matthew could feel that odd dislike strengthening into hatred as he sat beside Freda, wrapped in his sleeping bag. “Do you feel anything odd?” he asked Freda.
“Like what?”
Matthew gave an uneasy laugh. “As if this place hates us?”
“There’s something creepy,” said Freda. “What was that?” She clutched Matthew.
“What? What is it?”
“I saw something white out of the corner of my eye.”
“Probably a gull. They never seem to go to sleep.”
“Maybe.”
“Oh, hell.” Matthew took another slug of whisky. “The wind’s getting up.”
Freda looked up at the sky. Long fingers of clouds were beginning to stream across the night sky, obliterating the stars.
I can’t write about any of this, thought Matthew. I can’t write about feelings. If I write that the island hated us, the news editor will suggest a visit to the nearest rehab.
“Do you think,” said Freda in a trembling voice, “that it might be a good idea if we just cuddled up together and went to sleep?”
“This stone we’re sitting on,” said Matthew, shifting uneasily. “Do you think it might have been some sort of altar?”
“I tell you what,” said Freda. “Let’s get out of this circle and camp on the beach.”
They struggled out of their sleeping bags and then hauled their belongings down to the beach. Matthew shone his torch and found a flat area of springy turf.
“This’ll do. Let’s open up the sleeping bags and make a double blanket.”
Soon they lay clasped in each other’s arms as close as lovers. That odd feeling of hate had gone.
The area of grass they were lying on was shielded by an outcrop of rock. Lulled by whisky and the sound of the sea, they fell asleep.
Matthew was awakened by Freda shaking his shoulder. “Wake up!” she hissed. “Listen!”
They could hear faint cries above the steady throb of an engine. “If that’s a boat, maybe they can take us into Strathbane,” said Freda.
“I’d better have a look first.”
Matthew made his way up to the standing stones. He could see the rights of a large boat of some kind out to sea. He nipped back to Freda. “I’ve got some night-vision binoculars in my rucksack.”
“What is it?”
“Nothing supernatural. A ship out to sea.”
Matthew found his binoculars and went back to the standing stones. He focussed the binoculars on the large boat. He now saw a smaller fishing boat riding alongside it, rising and falling on the waves. Packages were being unloaded onto the fishing boat.
Maybe it’s drugs, he thought. Maybe I’ve got a story, after all.
A tap on the shoulder made him yelp with terror. He turned round. “Freda! You nearly frightened me to death.”
“We’re safe!” said Freda excitedly. “There’s a boat on the other side coming out to the island.”
“I think they’re drug runners,” said Matthew. “We’ve got to get back to our stuff and hide it and ourselves.”
Freda clutched him and whimpered. “I’m terrified. I want to go home.”
“Shhh! I’ll look after you. Come on. We’ve got to hide our stuff before that other boat gets here.”
They crept down to their sleeping bags and stuffed them back in the rucksacks. “If we hide behind the standing stones, they won’t see us,” said Matthew. “The wind’s gone down a bit, so we’ll get off all right in the morning.”
They made their way back to the stone circle. Matthew covered their rucksacks with grass and seaweed. He took out his mobile phone and dialled Elspeth’s number.
“I’m on Standing Stones Island,” he said. He told her about the boats. “I think they’re drug running. Tell the police at Strathbane and cover the story from your end.”
Elspeth phoned Hamish Macbeth.
“I may not get to Strathbane in time if that’s where they’re headed, but I’ll call headquarters and they can get the coastguard out,” said Hamish.
Matthew and Freda stood behind one of the pillars and listened. They heard the boat Freda had seen and then the sound of the other boat circling the island to join it.
“Damn,” muttered Matthew. “I must see what they’re doing.”
“Don’t leave me,” pleaded Freda.
He gave her a quick kiss. “Just stay here and you’ll be fine.”
He moved from the cover of one stone to another until he was looking down at the half-ruined jetty where they had landed. He raised his binoculars to his eyes. They seemed to be sharing out the packages. He concentrated on them.
Cigarettes!
Well, it wasn’t drugs, but it was something.
Freda leaned against a standing stone and wished with all her heart that Matthew would come back. And then she heard weird singing: an eerie chant that rose and fell. Her nerve broke, and she ran to where Matthew was hiding, shouting, “Help! Help!”
Matthew whirled round. “Freda, for God’s sake, keep your voice down.”
“I heard singing,” she said. “Awful ghostly singing.”
“One of the men’s playing Gaelic tunes on the radio.”
A powerful torch shone on them and a brutal voice ordered, “Get your hands up!”
Rough hands dragged them down to the jetty. The men all had their faces covered with black ski masks.
“I am a reporter with the
The leader, or the man who appeared to be the leader, stepped forward. “Get them aboard. We’ll tip them over the side when we’re far enough out.”
Guns were shoved in their backs and they were propelled aboard one of the boats.
They were tied up and placed side by side on the deck. Freda was sobbing with fear.
“Do we weigh them down with something?” a voice asked.
“No, they’ll be dead of cold, and they can’t swim with their arms and legs tied.”
“Freda,” whispered Matthew, “if we ever get out of this alive, I’ll make it up to you. I can’t tell them about the police knowing, or they might just shoot us.”
“They’re going to drown us anyway,” wailed Freda.
“Right,” they heard the leader say. “This is far enough. Throw them over the side.”
