The Lethal Target(11)

Jake followed Lauren along a rough track, then they turned off on to a path that suddenly started to descend, twisting and turning through the cliffs as it went down. Thick bushes and bramble bordered the path, growing out of the rocks, screening any view. The ground underfoot was loose stones, and Jake had to use his hands to steady himself against the rock face a few times. Finally they made it down to level ground, and as Jake stepped off the path, he stopped, stunned by the view: the sea loch directly in front of him, and the hills and mountains covered in purple and green in the distance on the other side of the loch. The rocks gave way to white sands, going down to the shore. Birds wheeled overhead.

‘I’m told that you can see otters in the water if you come down here early enough,’ said Lauren. ‘And deer, who come down to the loch side, in the evening, just before nightfall.’

‘Wow!’ said Jake.

This place was a whole world away from the crowded streets of London, where he’d spent all his life. It had a peace and tranquillity he’d never experienced before. And yet, just a few hundred metres away up the path from the shore, an excavation was at work, looking for a book that could hold the key to making one of the most potentially dangerous weapons ever known. What was it Lauren had said? Beauty often hides a secret killer.

‘We can get back to the guest house along the shore,’ Lauren said. ‘There’s another path a couple of miles along here that goes back up to the cliff top.’

‘Another couple of miles?’ echoed Jake, horrified. ‘We’ll have walked about six miles today! And we’ll be finishing with a climb upwards!’

Lauren smiled.

‘It’ll make you fit,’ she teased him.

‘It’ll make me exhausted,’ countered Jake.

But, as they walked and he took in the scenery all around them, Jake had to admit it was worth it. I wish we could be here without us needing to find the book, he thought. Without the Russians and MI5 and the CIA, and everyone else, and all this intrigue. I wish it could be just me and Lauren, walking along the shore like this, free and without any worries. And he reached out and took Lauren’s hand in his, and squeezed it gently; and she squeezed back.

‘There’s Robbie!’ she exclaimed. ‘And his Uncle Dougie!’

Jake saw two small upturned boats on the shore ahead of them, with two figures working on one of them. As they neared them, they saw that they were painting the upturned hull of the boat.

‘Good morning!’ called Lauren brightly.

The two stopped their painting and turned. The older of the two, Dougie MacClain, gave a friendly smile.

‘Good morning, Miss Cooper!’ He beamed.

‘This is my friend, Jake Wells,’ said Lauren.

‘Hi!’ said Jake, and he held out his hand.

Dougie looked down at his own hand, then shook Jake’s hand. His handshake was firm and friendly, like his brother Alec’s had been.

‘Just checking I didn’t have paint on it,’ he explained.

‘I could always wash it off,’ said Jake.

‘Not this stuff,’ chuckled Dougie. ‘Special paint for boats. Hard stuff. Has to be to withstand the salt in the sea. Isn’t that right, Robbie?’

Robbie nodded. Unlike his uncle, he didn’t smile.

He doesn’t trust us, thought Jake.

‘We’ve just met the Russians at their dig site,’ said Lauren.

‘Aye?’ said Dougie cautiously.

‘Dreadful!’ exploded Jake. ‘That fence shouldn’t be allowed in a beautiful place like this!’

‘The whole thing shouldn’t be allowed,’ growled Robbie. ‘They’re digging up sacred ground! People died there where they’re digging. They should be left in peace!’

‘Robbie feels very strongly about it.’ Dougie smiled.

‘I don’t blame him,’ said Jake. ‘I’d feel the same if I was him.’

Get on their side, thought Jake. If the MacClains were Watchers, as Lauren suspected, then they’d be keeping a close watch on the site, and everyone going near it. He and Lauren might well need their help.

‘What’s the fishing like?’ Jake asked Dougie, indicating the boats.

Dougie shook his head sadly.

‘Non-existent,’ he said. ‘It’s nearly all salmon farming these days. Everything seems to be on an industrial scale.’

‘No room for the small fisherman,’ sighed Jake sympathetically.

‘We get by,’ said Dougie. He smiled at Robbie. ‘Robbie wants to join me when he leaves school. I’ve told him there’s no future here. He ought to go to university and get a degree in something. Make his future elsewhere, where the money is.’