Jack Higgins - Midnight Never Comes

'What happened?'

'He was on my doorstep next morning, smooth as paint, that secretary of his with him to turn on the charm. Now she's a nice lass if you like, though she seems to think the sun shines out of him. Pretty obvious what he keeps her around for.'

'And what did he have to say about Loch Dubh?'

'Gave me some cock and bull story about Arctic Terns nesting in the area and how he didn't want them to be disturbed and he apologised for the Munros. Said he'd kick their backsides and so forth. There wasn't really much I could say. After all, Loch Dubh is on his land.'

Chavasse examined the map and George, in the act of clearing the table, paused to point out the loch with a jab of his finger.

'The Black Loch, sir, and black it is, too. About a quarter of a mile wide. That's the island in the centre. There's an old castle there. Built in the fifteenth century by Angus McClaren. Apparently he was known as the Wolf of Moidart.'

'It's ruined, I suppose?'

'Only partially, sir. Myself, I believe he's got someone living out there.'

'I mentioned that in my report,' Craig said.

Chavasse nodded and glanced up at George. 'Why do you think that?'

'The rogue thought he'd have a try for a salmon one night,' Colonel Craig cut in and chuckled. 'With a gaff, you understand. Strictly illegal.'

'I saw a light in the ruins, sir,' George said. 'No doubt about it. And I've seen it since on two other occasions.'

Chavasse turned to Craig. 'What about you?'

Craig shook his head. 'It would certainly explain Donner's anxiety to keep outsiders away.'

Chavasse stood up, crossed to the fireplace and looked down into the flames, a frown on his face. 'But what could be out there, that's the thing?'

Craig shrugged. 'The end of the pipe-line. Perhaps that's where he keeps them before shipping them out.'

Chavasse looked up. 'You know about the latest one of course?'

'This fella Souvorin, the rocket expert?' Craig nodded. 'Yes, there isn't much Mallory hasn't told me.'

'Any sign of his arrival?'

Craig shook his head. 'Impossible to tell. The plane's flown in and out on three separate occasions during the past four days, but it lands on a field behind Glenmore House and it's impossible to get close enough to see anything. Another thing, that damned dog of his roams around the place at will.'

Chavasse nodded. 'It seems as if the island is the place to start, then. At least that was my immediate impression after reading your report.'

'And, just how do you propose to do that?'

'Simple enough with the right equipment. You did pick up my luggage at Lochailort?'

Duncan Craig nodded. 'I was intrigued by that damned great cabin trunk. What have you got in there, for God's sake?'

'Various bits of skin-diving equipment, an aqualung and a collapsible rubber boat.'

'Commando stuff, eh? An assault by night?'

'That's the general idea. But first, I think I'll put my head in the jaws of the tiger, just to see what happens. There's plenty of trout in Loch Dubh, I suppose?'

'Quarter pounders-or occasional pounders-not much else.'

'Good enough for my purpose. I'll borrow a rod if I may and give them a try after breakfast.'

'The Munros will prove unpleasant if they catch you, especially after your bout with Fergus. They don't take kindly to being beaten at anything.'

'Neither do I,' Chavasse said. 'At least I'll get a look at the island and there's nothing like stirring the pot a little. It'll suit me well enough to be dragged off to Glenmore House as a trespasser. I don't think Asta's going to like that. Donner's going to have to be very nice indeed to make up for the indignity. It might even clinch that dinner invitation you mentioned.'

Craig knocked the ashes from his pipe into the hearth and hesitated. 'What about the girl, by the way? You're sure she isn't mixed up in this?'

Chavasse nodded. 'It's like you said earlier, Colonel Craig. One develops an instinct for this sort of game. She's clean, I'll stake my life on it.'

'No need to sound quite so fervent,' the old man said, 'or is there? Ah well, I'll be able to see her for myself perhaps before very much longer.' He got to his feet. 'Well, I'm for bed, my boy. If you take my advice, you won't be far behind.'

'Ten minutes,' Chavasse said. 'I'm just going to have a last cigarette.'

The door closed behind the old man as he went out and Chavasse got to his feet, crossed to the french windows and drew the curtain. A bare two miles away through the darkness was the loch. Within a few hours he might be in great danger. The rain hammered on the glass, driven by the wind and a sudden spark of excitement moved inside him. He smiled softly, turned and left the room.

On the other side of the hill in his study at Glenmore House, Max Donner sat at his desk, the Admiralty Chart for the Western Isles spread before him. The door opened, and Murdoch came in, unbuttoning a black oilskin coat that streamed with rain.

Donner looked up and leaned back in his chair. 'Well?'

Murdoch shook his head. 'No luck, I'm afraid. That old bastard Hector was as immovable as a rock. Said Fergus had gone off on his evening rounds and they hadn't seen him since. He was lying of course.'

'What did you do?'

'Searched the caravans.' His face wrinkled in distaste at the memory. 'God, if I could only get the stench of them out of my nostrils.'

Donner's hand slammed down hard on the desk. 'I want Fergus, Jack. I want him here where I can get my hands on him, do you understand? My God, when I think of that filthy animal putting his hands on Asta …'

His face became congested and he wrenched at his collar as if he found difficulty in breathing. Murdoch moved to the sideboard, poured whisky into a glass quickly and returned to the desk.

Donner took it down in one easy swallow, then he hurled the glass into the fireplace. 'Right, Jack, you know what to do.'

He leaned over the map again and Murdoch turned towards the door and then hesitated. 'What about Asta, Mr. Donner?'

Donner looked up with a slight frown. 'What do you mean?'

'I should have thought this was just about the worst possible time she could have picked to turn up,' Murdoch said awkwardly. 'I mean, what happens if she notices things she shouldn't?'

'You mind your own damned business,' Donner said coldly. 'I'll look after Asta personally. Now get to hell out of here.'

The door closed softly and Donner sat there at the desk for a moment before getting to his feet and crossing to the fire. He took a cigar from a box on the mantelpiece and lit it carefully, staring down into the flames, thinking about her.

The door clicked open again and the man who entered carrying a tray was taller even than Donner with a scarred, hairless head and a great flat-boned face whose slanted eyes and open nostrils gave him an almost Mongolian cast.

He placed the tray on the desk and turned enquiringly. 'Coffee, Mr. Donner?'

Donner shook his head. 'No, I don't think so, Stavrou. I'll go straight to bed.' He moved to the door, opened it, then he turned and said in Russian: 'Not long now, old friend. Not long.'

He closed the door, crossed the hall and mounted the great staircase. As he turned along the landing, a door opened and Ruth Murray came out. She stood waiting for him, the door behind her slightly ajar.

'How is she?' Donner said eagerly.

'Sleeping like a baby. She'll be fine in the morning.' She put a hand on his sleeve. 'Are you coming to bed?'

He brushed her hand away impatiently. 'Not tonight, Ruth. I've got work to do.' She started to turn and he added quickly, 'Just a minute, there's something I want you to do for me. This man Chavasse. Get on to Essex University. See what you can find out about him.'

'You think he might be an agent?' she said.