S Bolton: Sacrifice

Stopping for just a second to get my bearings, I made for the ridge of rock that would shelter me from anyone searching the immediate grounds. I reached it and dropped low, giving myself a second to get my breath back and make sure I hadn't been spotted. Looking back at the clinic, I saw the door had been closed. There was no sign of Duncan. When I had enough courage I set off again, retracing my footsteps. I found the rucksack I'd left earlier and pulled on my waterproofs, then followed the cliff path until I reached the marker stone I'd left on the wall. I climbed over, squeezed through the gap in the barbed wire and ran to the cliff top. I was about to start the scramble down when I stopped. Something was moving on the beach.

It was the cliff birds. They'd scared the hell out of me earlier; they were just doing it again, that's all. I had to get down there. Duncan was going to need help. Whatever it was moved again. I froze. No bird could be that big. I crept down the cliff path. A loose rock went tumbling beneath me and I froze again. Below, where I guessed the boat would be, a light flashed on. A beam of light started to creep around the rocks. I flattened myself against the cliff and kept as still as I could. At one point the torch's beam touched my foot but didn't linger and after a minute or two it was switched off.

Slowly, carefully, I started to climb back up the cliff, praying I would disturb no more loose rocks. I reached the top and paused for breath. My boat had been discovered. They would be looking for me, would search the island until they found me. I might manage to hold them off until dawn, but once daylight came there'd be nowhere to hide. And they had dogs. If they set the dogs loose…

One way or another I was getting off that island; and there was only one other way I could think of. Richard was about to get another passenger. I set off again, running almost due north. Once I reached the track I kept as close to it as I dared for the half-mile or so that took me to the other side of the island. At one point I had to dive for cover when the sound of a diesel engine came roaring up from the harbour. It was a large four-wheel-drive vehicle, similar to the one Dunn drove. It might even be his car. Several men were inside it. They were travelling at considerable speed, given how rough and potholed the road was.

I ran on, getting more and more out of breath. I reached the highest ridge I had to cross and began to stumble down the other side. The water of Skuda Sound was ahead of me and, tantalizingly close, the lights of Uyeasound. The motor launch was still moored to the pier. Its cabin lights were on and, from the bubble of water at its stern, I knew its engines were running.

The wind was still pretty ferocious, masking any sounds that might be coming from the boat, but several of the dark clouds had blown away, allowing a small moon and a few stars to shine through. Visibility was better than when I'd arrived on the island and I could make out the figures on my watch. Eleven-thirty. I ran down to the pier and crouched low, by the side of the launch. It was fastened, port side to, by lines at the bow and the stern. I crept to the nearest cabin hatch and peered through. It was the main cabin. There was a helm, control panel and radio, a small teak-fitted living area with tiny galley, a chart table and three further doors leading off. No sign of Richard. I moved on and looked through the hatch of a small sleeping cabin. Dana lay on the bunk, motionless, but she wasn't alone in the cabin. I could see the tip of a polished black brogue and a few inches of charcoal-grey trouser fabric. Thank God, Duncan was already on board. As gently as I could, I pulled myself up and swung my leg over the guardrail. The boat rocked only a fraction.

'Someone up there?' called my father-in-law from below.

Small boats aren't exactly blessed with hiding places. Frantically looking round, I could see only one way out – jumping over the side and swimming for Unst. Someone was moving below, climbing the steps.

On the cabin roof was a folded awning, used to protect the cockpit from spray in poor weather conditions. I climbed up, lay down and burrowed into its folds.

The boat rocked as Richard climbed the companionway steps. I could see nothing, but knew Richard would be at the top of the steps, looking around, puzzled to see no one on board. He'd be less than two feet away from me. I held my breath, praying the canvas awning covered all of me and that he wouldn't notice it looking bulkier than normal.

Below, the boat's radio burst into crackling, static life. 'Arctic Skua, come in, Arctic Skua. Base here.' Richard climbed back down the steps. I prayed the wind would die down a little, just enough for me to hear what was going on.

The radio crackled again; I thought I heard the word 'basement' and a couple of expletives but I couldn't be sure. Then Richard spoke.

'Right, I understand. I'll be careful. I'm setting off now. Arctic Skua out.'

Below me, Richard was moving again. A cabin door opened and shut, then I heard him heading up top. I counted seven footsteps and then he was in the cockpit. He climbed heavily on to the seat and then the deck. I heard him walk forwards and then the sliding sound of the bow-line being released. At once the boat swung round, the current taking it away from the pier. Then Richard walked back down the deck towards the stern. I waited for him to stop and then I risked peering out over the top of the canvas. He was bent almost double, his back to me, unfastening the stern-line from the cleat. Once released, the boat would drift swiftly away from the pier and he would have to rush back to the cabin to steer us away from Tronal. This was my best chance. Creep up behind him, give one almighty shove and he'd go overboard. It would be the easiest thing in the world then for Duncan and me to drive the boat to Uyeasound.

Too late. Richard began to turn. I crouched back down.

The boat was drifting fast from the marina. Richard strode through the cockpit and down the steps. Then I heard the engines revving and the boat swung round to starboard. I looked up, trying to get my bearings. Nothing but blackness ahead. Behind me the lights of Uyeasound were shrinking. We were heading east down the Skuda Sound, out into the North Sea.

Richard wasn't sparing the engines. We sped along at seven or eight knots. Rhythmically, like hammers striking the seconds on a giant clock, waves thudded against the hull. The bow of the boat rose and dipped and spray came hurtling over the deck like an intermittent and very cold shower. It was extremely uncomfortable and I knew the longer I stayed where I was, the colder and stiffer I'd become. When was Duncan going to make his move? I got up. The cabin roof was slippery with sea water and I gripped the rail before lowering myself on to the deck. The rucksack on my back was making me clumsy. I pulled it off and fastened it to a cleat. Then I reached inside. I found what I was looking for and tucked it into the front pocket of my waterproofs.

Then Richard cut down the revs and the boat slowed by several knots. We were heading south; Tronal was about two hundred yards away on the starboard side and around us loomed huge, dark shapes, as menacing as they were unexpected. I'd never been this far east of the islands and I didn't know that some of the oldest rocks in Shetland can be found exactly here. Stacks of granite, echoes of the majestic cliffs that towered here millions of years ago, were all around us. Some were massive, soaring above us in archways and monoliths, others crouched low in the water like fell beasts waiting to pounce. They'd be beneath us too, making navigation treacherous and explaining Richard's drop in speed. Like black-cowled monks, frozen in prayer, they stood in silence and watched us passing.