Max stared into James’s eyes. He had grown even thinner since James had arrived and had virtually stopped eating altogether. His skull was visible beneath his flesh, and his lips were blue and very dry. ‘I’ve never talked about this to anyone,’ he said. ‘I’ve tried to bury the memories, but, talking to you by the river, something stirred… And now…’
‘Honestly, Uncle Max, if you’d rather not talk about it.’
Max coughed briefly and prodded the fire with the poker, sending up a spray of glittering sparks that lit the room red. ‘I suppose it must happen to all spies in the end,’ he said. ‘They can’t remain hidden forever. And one night, they came to where I was staying. It was a small hotel in Flanders. There were four of them, big German soldiers. Didn’t say much, just threw me into the back of a lorry and carted me away from there in my pyjamas. I don’t mind telling you, James, I was scared. Absolutely petrified.
‘Their headquarters was a big, old, ugly, medieval fortress made of black stone and I knew that there was only one way out of that place – in a coffin. I’d been rumbled, and as a spy I could be shot… and worse…’
Max stopped and rubbed his arms under his blankets.
‘They didn’t treat me very well, did some pretty ghastly things to me, but I wouldn’t tell them anything. Not that I had much to tell that was of any military importance. But I had my contacts, d’you see? My friends – and I didn’t want to give them away. Although I knew that sooner or later I’d have to tell them something. Sooner or later every man will break. That was the most frightening thing of all. But I didn’t want that, I didn’t want them to know that they could do it to me.’
‘But you escaped,’ said James. ‘You must have done or you wouldn’t be sitting here, telling me about it now.’
‘Ah, yes,’ said Max. ‘Nobody can hold a Bond forever…’
The fire was dying down in the grate. Dark patches crawled across the glowing red and orange embers and died away. Uncle Max dropped a couple of smaller sticks and a fresh log on and watched the flames spring to life and curl up the chimney.
‘The Germans threw me into a tiny, windowless, stone cell,’ he said quietly, as if the memory of his capture and imprisonment as a spy caused him actual pain. ‘And every few hours they’d drag me out for…’ He paused, choosing the words carefully, ‘for questioning. I lost track of time. I had no idea if it was day or night. Sometimes they let me use a lavatory – they weren’t complete beasts. The room had a tiny barred window, no chance of escaping there; but I noticed that where the pipes came through the wall on one side, it was damp. The place was ancient and the plumbing had probably been leaking since Napoleon’s time, so all the plasterwork was rotted. I picked away at that wall with bleeding fingers and found that behind the plaster there was no stonework, only the stuff they use to pack stud walls with, a filthy mass of sodden horsehair and straw and old wooden laths so rotten they gave way like paper. I left it alone that first time, but I started to hatch a plan. I think that’s what kept me going – having a plan – in some small, hidden part of my brain I still had control over my fate. And so, every time they let me use the toilet I worked on loosening more plaster. The last time they threw me in there, I worked like a dog and managed to kick a hole just large enough to fit into. I had no idea what was on the other side, but it was my only chance, so I wriggled through.
‘It was hard work, I was fearfully weak and covered in cuts and bruises, but I made it. I found myself in a long, dark room with a small, dusty window at the far end. The water tanks for the whole building were up in here, gurgling and clanking away. Well, I knew I had only seconds to get away, but I wanted to leave them something to think about, and I just had the strength to wrench a couple of pipes loose and start a flood. The water gushed out of the tanks in a great torrent and I hobbled to the window, forced it open and looked out into the night… I was five floors up and it was snowing.’
‘What did you do?’ asked James, picturing his uncle standing there in his rags, peering down at that long drop.
‘I didn’t stop to think,’ said Max. ‘It was only a matter of time before my guards opened the lavatory door and found me gone. Even though the outside of the fortress was cold and wet and slippery, I climbed out and somehow managed to grab hold of an old drainpipe, which I slithered down. I did all right until one section of it broke away and I fell the last twenty-odd feet on to the hard cobbles of the yard below. When I tried to walk I realised that I’d broken my leg, but that didn’t stop me. I didn’t look back, I hopped and stumbled across the yard for dear life, ignoring the pain, all the while expecting to feel a bullet in my back.’
‘Where were they?’ said James. ‘What was happening?’
‘I don’t know, maybe they were all sheltering from the snow or searching for me inside the building, maybe the flood had distracted them, but I didn’t see a soul. Thank God, the back gate to the yard was open where a narrow roadway led on to a small bridge. The bridge spanned a canal of some sort and as I got there a long barge full of neeps was passing underneath. So, without a second thought, I scrambled over the side of that bridge on to the great pile of neeps and buried myself in them.’
‘Neeps?’ said James.
‘Turnips! That’s what my great adventure boiled down to: a raggedy, freezing scarecrow of a man hiding under turnips. Still want to be a spy, lad?’
‘I don’t know,’ said James. ‘But it does sound more exciting than being a bank manager or a postman.’
Max gave a short, wheezy laugh. ‘I would have given anything, that night, to be a postman,’ he said. ‘Going about his rounds in some leafy village street… I nearly died on the barge, James. It was bitterly cold and my broken leg was burning hot and feverish. I ate some of the raw turnips to keep me going – haven’t been able to touch one since. But somehow I made it till morning, and a weak sun warmed me a little. We chugged along all that day and the next. I had no idea where we were going, and didn’t much care, I was delirious, slipping in and out of sanity. Then, when we stopped at a lock, I must have had a brief lucid moment and I realised that the longer I stayed on that barge the more chance there was that I would be spotted. So I jumped ship and hid out in some woods… Once again I lost all track of time, days came and went, waves of fever passed over me, sending me mad, but I must have been alone in the woods for two, maybe three weeks, trapping wild game, eating roots and berries, little better than an animal.
‘I stole some clothes from a logging camp, strapped my leg up as best I could, but I was growing more desperate and weaker by the minute. How long could a man survive like that? In the end, I was saved by the most unlikely angels – a group of German deserters, of all people.’
‘Germans?’ said James. ‘Really?’
‘Yes. They were soldiers who had grown sick of fighting. They’d run away from the war and were living in the woods like savages. They fed me and looked after me until I was strong enough to set off through the mountains to Switzerland. And that was the end of my glorious war. No medals, just a limp.’
‘I had no idea,’ said James. ‘I knew you had hurt your leg, but…’
‘As I say,’ murmured Max, ‘I’ve never told anyone. Your father knew some of it. And I don’t know why I’m telling you, James, except, perhaps, to say – don’t ever be a spy. War’s a dirty enough business as it is.’ He poked at the burning log on the fire. ‘Now.’ He straightened in his chair and put the poker down. ‘Let’s see if we can’t find you some stuff for your trip. I’ve an old two-man tent from my army days that you can dig out of the shed, and I think you’ll find a pair of binoculars and a decent water flask in there. Oh, and here you are, look, have this. A boy always needs a knife.’ He hobbled over to the mantelpiece and fetched his folding knife and handed it to James.
‘Thank you,’ said James. ‘Thank you for everything. I’ve really enjoyed the last few days, learning to fish – and learning to drive, of course.’
‘Well, I suppose they’re all
things your father would have taught you. He was keen on fishing when he was a lad. The two of us were always out on the river near Glencoe. I do miss my big brother sometimes.’ He stopped and looked into the fire, his eyes clouded. ‘It was a terrible thing that happened. A boy needs a father, and I’m no substitute, an old wreck like me.’
‘You’re not old,’ said James. ‘And you’re not a wreck. You’re still a demon behind the wheel of a car.’
‘Don’t make me laugh,’ said Max, clutching his chest.
‘When I get back,’ said James, ‘let’s spend a whole day fishing.’
‘We will,’ said Max, his face brightening. ‘I’ll show you how to Spey cast, and then we’ll see if you can’t beat your record to the gatepost and back.’ He lit a cigarette and coughed as he inhaled the smoke. Then he studied his battered, old, gunmetal cigarette lighter.
‘Here you are,’ he said, giving it to James. ‘Might come in useful lighting fires and whatnot.’
‘Won’t you need it?’ asked James.
‘Not any more.’ Max smiled at James, and James saw something unspoken behind his eyes.
‘I’m going to take your advice,’ he said hoarsely. ‘As of tonight I’m giving up smoking.’
The two of them laughed, then Max rested his hands on James’s shoulders.
‘You take care, now,’ he croaked. ‘Don’t get into any scrapes, and when you get back we’ll see if we can’t land ourselves a champion salmon.’
17
Strange Catch
‘Right,’ said James, slipping his knapsack off and retrieving Max’s binoculars from a side pocket. ‘If you were Meatpacker, where would you make your camp?’
‘In the pub,’ said Kelly, and James laughed.
‘Be serious.’
They had stopped at the pass at Am Bealach Geal and were sitting down, scanning the countryside with Max’s binoculars. Ahead of them and below was the lake, to the right were the low hills that curled round to the castle at the far end. To the left were the craggy rocks and cliffs that overhung on that side, and above them the great brooding pile of the mountain, Angreach Mhòr, its peak hidden by clouds.
‘We didn’t see anything on our way round to the right, did we?’ said Kelly.
‘No,’ said James. ‘There wasn’t a lot of cover, and when Meatpacker found us he must have been coming from over to the left, or we’d have seen him.’
‘Left it is, then,’ said Kelly.
‘I agree,’ said James. ‘Let’s go down and take a look.’
They followed the path down to the fence where the dead animals were hung, and then skirted clockwise round the wire until their way was blocked by a largish thicket of scrubby shrubs and half-dead trees. It looked particularly uninviting, and they poked about the edges until they found what looked like a way in through the tangled, thorny undergrowth.
‘Look here,’ said James, pointing to the broken ends of some brambles and small twigs. ‘Someone’s hacked their way in here not so long ago.’
Cautiously they went in. It was dark and cold and smelt of damp and decay, but somebody had certainly been this way before quite recently. In the centre of the thicket was a small clearing that had obviously been recently enlarged; there were more broken sticks and branches here, and a few smaller saplings had been uprooted and tossed to the side. There were also some scattered ashes, though they had mostly been kicked into the soggy earth. Tiny black flies whined in the thick air and landed on their skin in dark clumps.
‘What do you think?’ said James, swatting a patch of flies, which left a dirty smear on the back of his hand. ‘Looks like this could have been his camp, don’t you think?’
Kelly was inspecting the ground.
‘It’s been raked over here,’ he said. ‘But look, there’s some holes that could have been made by tent poles or something.’ He scratched his ankle where he’d been bitten by an insect. ‘If he was here, either he’s tried to cover his traces, or somebody else has.’
‘What’s this?’ said James, looking deep into the undergrowth and trying to make out an object in the gloom. ‘There’s something glinting.’
He picked up a long stick and poked around with it, exposing more metal and a leather strap. He hooked the stick through the strap and fished it up.
‘It’s Meatpacker’s binocs,’ said Kelly.
They brushed the earth off the binoculars, which looked undamaged. Kelly peered through them. ‘He wouldn’t leave them behind on purpose, would he?’
‘No,’ said James, and they both jumped as some animal scuttled noisily away through the bushes.
‘Come on,’ said Kelly seriously. ‘Let’s get out of here, I don’t like this one little bit.’
It was a relief to get back out into the daylight, even though the sky was now almost completely overcast and grey, with only thin, weak sunlight filtering through here and there.
‘OK,’ said James, shivering. ‘We found his hiding place easily enough, so it wouldn’t have been too tough for Hellebore’s men. We’ll need to pitch our tent somewhere else. It’s not safe here.’
‘You wouldn’t catch me putting up a tent in there,’ said Kelly with a shudder. ‘The more I see of the countryside, the less I like it. Give me houses and walls and concrete any time.’
‘The only houses near here are at the castle,’ said James, ‘and I don’t suppose you want to spend the night there?’
‘I don’t think I want to spend the night up here at all,’ said Kelly. ‘Maybe we should just go back, eh?’
Half of James wanted to agree with him – he was beginning to grow scared – but the other half, the reckless half, the half that longed for adventure, wanted to carry on.
‘No,’ he said decisively. ‘We’ve come this far; we’re not giving in. Let’s go and take a look at the castle and then plan our next step.’
‘If you say so, boss.’
So they went back the way they had come. First to the fence, then round behind the cover, until they found the hill from where they’d spied on the castle with Meatpacker. They crawled up it on their bellies, and now that they had two pairs of field glasses they both focused on the stark, grey building together.
Nothing was happening. It was all quiet. Apart from the bored-looking sentry at his post with the hunting rifle, there was nobody around.
‘This is a waste of time,’ said Kelly. ‘You know what we’ve got to do?’
‘What?’ said James.
‘We’ve got to get in there and have a look around the castle.’
‘Isn’t that dangerous?’
‘Yeah,’ said Kelly. ‘But you said yourself – we’ve come this far. We’re not going to find out much more, skulking around out here, are we?’
‘Yes, but you don’t just go breaking into places…’
Kelly smiled and gave James a sly look.
‘Oh,’ said James. ‘Maybe you do.’
‘Let’s just say I’ve had a little experience of that sort of thing,’ said Kelly.
‘You mean you’re a burglar?’ said James, who had always suspected as much.
‘I’m not a bleeding burglar,’ said Kelly. ‘Though I have broken into a few houses in me time, when the need arose.’
‘You have burgled?’
‘I’ve told you what I’ve told you. But it’s simple, Jimmy. Once it’s dark, I can get us both in there, we can snoop around and be out again without anyone noticing. Piece of cake.’
‘Piece of cake?’
‘The only thing I ain’t figured out is how to get past the fence.’
Just then they heard the sound of an engine, and they wriggled back down the hill and crouched behind some rocks, squinting down the narrow dirt road that wound its way across the moors towards Keithly.
‘It’s a police car,’ said Kelly, and James focused his binoculars on the fast-moving black vehicle, which was throwing up a spray of dirt and water behind it. There were the shapes of two policemen in the front.
‘
Come on,’ said James. ‘Let’s see what they’re up to.’
From their hiding place on top of the hill they watched the car pass through the gatehouse and stop. The guard had come out of his sentry post, but now there was no sign of the rifle he had been holding before. He was all smiles. He pointed the car towards the castle and it moved slowly down the causeway and parked at the far end, where a small group of men was gathered on the bridge, peering down into the water. As the policemen got out of their car, the castle doors opened and Lord Hellebore appeared.
He strode purposefully over the bridge to the new arrivals and shook their hands.
One of the policemen was young and skinny; the other was older and quite fat, his too-tight uniform straining at the seams.
‘That must be Sergeant White,’ said James.
‘Yeah,’ said Red. ‘I seen him in Keithly. That’s a man who likes his pies.’
Sergeant White smiled at Lord Hellebore and nodded his head while the younger policeman took notes with a pencil. Randolph pointed to the water several times with one big hand and shrugged every now and then as Sergeant White asked him a question. Finally, one of the men by the bridge shouted and everyone hurried over.
James now saw that the man who had shouted was fishing in the moat with what looked like a boathook. He had evidently caught hold of something, because he started to pull. Two other men joined him, and eventually they hauled a large, soft object out of the water and up on to the bank.
It was a man’s body.
‘Bloody hell,’ said Kelly, who had his eyes pressed tightly against his binoculars. ‘Would you look at that.’
The body was still dressed and, although it was covered with a fair amount of filthy green slime and the clothes were badly torn and stained, James could still make out an unmistakable pair of tartan trousers. One leg was pulled up and he could clearly see a small, pearl-handled pistol strapped to the sock.
‘It’s Meatpacker,’ he whispered.
Amazingly, he seemed to be still alive. At any rate, the body was moving.