H.M.S. Unseen Read online

  The admiral was silent for a few moments, hearing about ten thousand bells of pure alarm ringing in his head. But he said, quietly, “No, Douglas. She never mentioned anything to me…I was going to ask you if you had told him that Bill and Laura were here, but of course, I forgot, you didn’t know.”

  “No. But I think I mentioned they were expected sometime soon. You know, bringing the girls back from America…that sort of thing.”

  “Did he say how long he and his wife were planning to be here?”

  “I think he said a week or so. His wife arrives in Edinburgh tomorrow.”

  “Well, Douglas. I thank you for ringing. Sorry I can’t help much. I hope to see you soon.”

  They said their good-byes. But without putting down the phone, Admiral MacLean instantly made another call, transatlantic to Washington, straight to the White House main switchboard.

  “Would you connect me to Admiral Arnold Morgan, please.”

  “Certainly, sir. Who shall I say is calling?”

  “MacLean. Admiral Iain MacLean in Scotland.”

  “Admiral Morgan’s office…”

  “May I speak to the admiral, please. This is Iain MacLean in Scotland.”

  “Morgan. Speak.”

  “Arnold, it’s Iain.”

  “Hey, Iain, old buddy. How ya bin? Anything hot?”

  “Hottest. He’s here.”

  “Who? No. Jesus Christ. You at home?”

  Morgan paused for a few seconds, gathering his thoughts…no secure line.

  “When you say he’s here, Iain, do you mean the he I think you mean? And do you mean he’s in the country, in your house, or in your study?”

  “The very one, Arnold. He’s trying to find Laura. He turned up at her ex-husband’s house this afternoon looking for her.”

  “JESUS CHRIST!”

  “Look, Arnold. I have been fairly certain for some weeks now that he was in Scotland. Can you get hold of a chart of the North Atlantic, the eastern side?”

  “Yeah, wait a minute.” It took two. Then, “Got it. I am looking at it.”

  “Right. Get a pencil and mark with a cross the following positions…yes, that’s it…two on 30 West, one on 53 North, 20 West…right…where the airliners went down. Right, now put a cross at 57.49 North, 09.40 West…that’s it…now one at 08.35 West, same latitude. Now one at the port of Mallaig on the coast of Scotland opposite the southwest corner of the Isle of Skye.”

  The admiral then pointed out the progression of his thoughts—the lost fishing boat, the missing soldiers on St. Kilda, the Zodiac suddenly turning up in Mallaig. “I believe,” he said, “that our man got off Unseen at 09.40 West, made his way to St. Kilda for petrol, then got to Mallaig. I have no idea what he is doing—but today a man turned up at my former son-in-law’s house looking for Laura. The description fitted Adnam as I remember him. But he claimed to have met her in Cairo. And I know that she and Adnam once went there together. No one was supposed to know, and no one but he could have known. It was him all right, and he’s on the loose here.”

  “Did he give an indication how long he was staying in Scotland?”

  “No. But my idiot ex-son-in-law did tell him Laura was expected at the end of Easter, so I imagine he’ll stay around here for a couple of weeks. But you could never be sure. For all I know he’s going to get back on the submarine and hit something else…but I thought I’d better keep you up to speed.”

  “Iain, I don’t need to tell you I’m delighted that you did call. I’m just wondering if there are any further checks we ought to make. Where are Bill and Laura now?”

  “They’re here, I think, for another five days.”

  “Let’s get ’em the hell out. Back to Kansas. And I think I’d better get a general alert out to watch for Adnam at all airport entry points in the United States. I cannot imagine that he would come here, where he is most wanted as an international criminal. But, now he knows she has gone off with an American, he might try to get to her in the States. Wish we knew what name he was traveling under.”

  “Douglas—the ex–son-in-law—had a name but forgot it.”

  “Don’t forget to congratulate him for me on that.”

  “I won’t. Do you have a decent picture of Adnam for your checkpoints?”

  “I’m not sure…but I think I can get one from David Gavron.”

  “Okay, Arnold. I won’t keep you any longer. If you don’t have any luck with the Mossad, we have a good picture of him when he was here…eighteen years ago, but it might help.”

  “Good. We’ll talk later.”

  Commander Adnam drove north, his mind churning. Laura was coming to Scotland, but what good would that do him? She would be at MacLean’s house, and the admiral would recognize him instantly. He could not keep the white mansion under surveillance, and she might only be there for a couple of days. No, if he wanted to talk to Laura, and her husband, the place to go, perhaps in the next week, was Kansas, their permanent home.

  The United States of America was also, he believed, the only place to which he could go, the one country whose natural self-interest might just make him too valuable to kill, if he played his many high cards correctly. Because Benjamin Adnam was not merely the most wanted man in the world, he was also one of the most knowledgeable. He knew many Naval and military secrets of Israel, Iraq, and Iran. He understood their attitudes, hopes, and fears. With him, Benjamin Adnam, on its side, the United States would have a supreme, strategic asset. Just so long as he could convince them of this before they took him out.

  He knew he had to go in at the highest possible level, and that might not be too simple. He had not a single contact in the U.S.A. Unless—and the thought struck him suddenly—Mr. Baldridge took him there. The man entrusted with running to ground the perpetrator of the Thomas Jefferson disaster would be a man in touch with the highest members of the current Republican administration in Washington.

  The sheer simplicity of this trail to a new life struck Ben as so utterly convenient it must be impossible. But the logic was as straight as a line of longitude. If he could find Laura, he would find Baldridge, and if he found him, he might be able to swing some kind of a deal. Either way, the former U.S. Navy officer would most likely prefer to put the great Iraqi terrorist in front of some very senior people, rather than the local sheriff.

  The main problem was, surely, how to get into the United States of America without being apprehended by the immigration authorities and swiftly handed over to the merciless agents of the CIA. He believed the straight London–New York, or London–Washington was very tight at the immigration desks. And he decided to find another, quieter route into the customs halls of the Great Satan.

  As he drove back past the rolling hills of Lammermuir, Commander Adnam weighed up the factors that ranged against him: the fact that Lieutenant Commander Baldridge had spent time with the MacLeans meant they all knew who he was; he felt reasonably sure Douglas Anderson would have alerted the admiral that someone had been inquiring for Laura; knowing the mind of old MacLean, Ben was prepared for anything. My Teacher will remain consistent, missing nothing, not then, not now.

  In Ben’s view, he had to get out of Scotland and into another country without his British passport being freshly stamped. From there he would try to make his way unobtrusively into the United States. There was only one country from which he could pull off such a move…Ireland, because he would not need a passport to get in. Not from England or Scotland. If MacLean had alerted his American friends, they would be keeping a rigid watch on passengers coming in from London, Manchester, Edinburgh, or Glasgow. But perhaps not quite so stringently from Shannon.

  Bill, Laura, and the girls arrived back from Edinburgh shortly after 1900. Laura had signed a stack of legal papers in her solicitor’s office, and Bill had countersigned several as well. It was beginning to look as if she would be granted full custody and that Douglas would have the girls for vacations only. Admiral MacLean’s powerful intervention with the judge had
worked a miracle, and it seemed increasingly likely that they would ultimately attend their new stepgrandmother’s alma mater, Wellesley College, outside Boston, Massachusetts.

  The admiral met the Range Rover as it drove in, with Laura at the wheel. He told Mary and Flora to run along to the kitchen, where their grandma and Angus had their supper ready. He then suggested that Laura and Bill join him in the drawing room for a drink before dinner because there was something he needed to discuss.

  They could both see the concern on his face, and they both noticed he was silent as he poured three glasses of whiskey and soda. The admiral wasted no time beating about the bush.

  He mentioned that he hoped Bill liked the Scotch, a single malt distilled locally, but that the subject he wanted to discuss was very pressing.

  “Ben Adnam showed up this afternoon at Douglas Anderson’s house,” he said. “He was looking for Laura, who he apparently thought was still in residence. Douglas called to let me know—the description fitted, and he told Douglas that he and his wife met you in Cairo…the Mena House Hotel actually…bit close to the bone, eh?”

  “God, Daddy. I didn’t know even you knew that.”

  “Well, I didn’t until about two years after the event. But I tend to come stumbling along a bit behind the rest of the world. Nonetheless, the Cairo clue was decisive. It had to be Ben.”

  “Correct. It had to be Ben. And you say he was looking for me?”

  “According to Douglas, he was.”

  “But why?”

  “Oh, it’s hard to know really. But chaps in his line of country lead very strange, lonely lives. And when they finish their various projects, it’s nearly impossible for them to return to anything normal.”

  “Yes. I suppose so. Do you think I’m in any danger?”

  “Possibly. I mean when a chap has already killed several thousand people, you don’t quite know what his state of mind may be. Especially if he’s been fired, or, for some reason, feels unwanted. All kinds of odd thoughts can pop into such a disturbed mind. I mean, it’s not completely beyond the realm of possibility that he might have gone to the house intending to kill Douglas and kidnap you. Let’s face it, he might be planning to kill Bill right now, and kidnap you. Either way, we are going to be very careful indeed until he is caught. I’ve had a talk with Arnold Morgan, who is concerned for your safety. He thinks you should leave Scotland immediately and return to Kansas…that’s the morning flight to Chicago tomorrow.”

  “You think it’s that serious, Iain?” asked Bill.

  “Actually, no. But you can’t be too careful with this man. So it is serious enough for me to have changed your reservations, and organized a Navy car and escort to get you into the airport with the girls by 0900 tomorrow.”

  “Does Adnam know where we live in the States?” asked Laura.

  “I don’t think so. He did not, after all, even know you were not married to Douglas anymore. But I’d better bloody ask. I should have thought of that when he rang. Must be getting old.”

  “What’s Admiral Morgan doing?”

  “Stepping up security at all airport points of entry, looking for Adnam, in case he should try to enter the U.S.A. If I know Arnold, it’ll be quiet but thorough. I just called him back. He’s organizing a Navy helicopter to run you from Chicago to Kansas, and for the time being there’ll probably be some military security at the ranch—firstly to protect you, secondly to catch this bastard. We now think there’s no doubt he was somehow responsible for all three of those aircraft crashes.”

  “Do you think Ben might be planning to kill my husband, Daddy?” said Laura.

  “Well, we have to work on the theory that he might be thinking along those lines. Dementia can easily enter the mind of a mass murderer…but I don’t think so. Because there’s an edge of hysteria in that type of thinking…murdering husbands in order to run off with their wives. Doesn’t sound like Ben to me. He’s too cold-hearted for that, too reasoned, too clever. In my view he may have wanted some kind of favor from you, but he might have turned very unpredictable if you had refused him help. None of us know where his professionalism ends and his madness begins.

  “And we can take no chances. Commander Adnam must for the moment be treated as a rabid dog. Simply because he has been operating on an entirely different wavelength from most of the human race for a very long time. He may be unpredictable now in his actions. Maybe even irrational. But we do not want to assume anything. And the quicker we get you both home, with the girls, and under the personal protection of the President’s national security advisor, the better I shall like it.”

  “Have you told Mummy anything?”

  “No. And I see no reason to worry her unduly. You can leave that to me.”

  They finished their drinks, and Bill and Laura went upstairs briefly to change before dinner. They went into the bedroom that overlooked the loch and the ex–lieutenant commander was quite surprised at his wife’s reaction. She threw her arms around him, and he could feel deep within her an uncontrolled trembling. “He really scares me, darling,” she whispered. “There’s something so absolutely terrible about him. And to think he’s out there somewhere. He found Douglas, and he could find this place. My God, he’s been here before. For all we know he’s out there watching.”

  “Ben Adnam is not the kind of man to be scratching around in some field, watching a house like some kind of a pervert,” said Bill. “That’s not him at all. He operates to carefully drawn-up plans. I’d be surprised if he came anywhere near here. I mean, Jesus, your father knows him. So does your mother. This is the last place he’d show up.”

  “I suppose not. But if Daddy and Admiral Morgan are worried, then I ought not to take this lightly. I’ll get Angus to start packing up the girls, and my things, while we’re having dinner.”

  “Okay, I’ll make my own arrangements. But I’ll tell you one thing—I would not want to be searching for Ben here in Scotland because I’m guessing he’s on his way out of here right now.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, he now knows you don’t live here. He has played that card and lost. He has a Mr. Anderson who knows him, and he’ll know that a routine phone call from Douglas either to your father, or to you, will stir up a hornet’s nest. In my view he’ll be on his way out of the country instantly.”

  “But where will he go?”

  “That’s the question, Laura. Maybe back to the Middle East. Maybe to Switzerland to collect money. Maybe South Africa, which he mentioned. But not, I suspect, to America, where he’s the most wanted man in history, having just murdered our saintly Vice President, and a half dozen politicians.”

  The farewell dinner at the home of Admiral MacLean was deeply traditional. Annie served Scottish smoked salmon from the Tay, with a bottle of Olivier Leflaive’s superb 1995 Puligny-Montrachet. The thick Angus steak fillets were accompanied by a 1990 Châteaux Lafleur from Pomerol.

  “It took a bit of courage to risk steak on a world expert beef-producing rancher from the Great Plains,” said the admiral. “I hope we’ve measured up.”

  “Fantastic,” said Bill, swallowing luxuriously. “And this is probably the best glass of wine I’ve ever had.”

  “Yes. They all got it right in Bordeaux in 1990,” agreed Sir Iain. “Took five years for it to come right again. By the way, I’m really sorry you all have to go tomorrow, but I think it’s for the best.”

  “I agree. And now we got Morgan on the case, I would not be surprised if they picked our man up very soon.”

  “I hope before he does any more damage, Bill. I still have it in my mind he somehow took out those two soldiers on St. Kilda. Otherwise, they’d still be there. Imagine that, two lives for a few gallons of fuel. I suppose that’s how you become, in his business…in the end.”

  “Guess so. And of course those guys always believe they are in the military, and to kill a couple of enemy soldiers hardly counts.”

  “Well, he knows you were in uniform, doesn’t he?” said Laur
a. “I hope he doesn’t think you hardly count. Because if he does, I’ll hunt him down, and I’ll kill him in cold blood.”

  Laura Baldridge did not have even a semblance of a smile on her face when she spoke those words. Her parents both looked quite shocked.

  11

  BEN GUESSED THAT ADMIRAL MACLEAN KNEW THE identity of the mysterious visitor to Galashiels Manor that day. That meant there would be some kind of security in place, and that he should avoid airports in big cities, like Edinburgh, Glasgow, London, and Dublin. His every instinct told him to stay rural, in his unobtrusive car, to travel alone and be seen by as few people as possible.

  He studied his little map throughout an excellent dinner of cold smoked trout and roast pheasant. And by 2230 there was no doubt in his mind. The way to Ireland was through West Wales to Fishguard, and into the Emerald Isle via the quiet southeastern Irish port of Rosslare.

  He would not need a passport, if he was British, and he resolved to spend some time with a travel agent before leaving Scotland. The one right around the corner from the hotel, in the High Street, he decided, would do just fine.

  He slept late the following morning, read the papers downstairs in the hotel lounge, and drank three cups of coffee. Then he checked out, left his bag with the concierge, and asked for his car to be brought up at midday.

  Inside the travel agent’s he studied a pile of brochures dealing with travel to and from southern Ireland. He bought himself a single ferry ticket from Fishguard to Rosslare, sailing at 0315. He intended to stay in Ireland for a few days organizing a B-2 multiple entry business visa into the United States, and then to leave via Shannon for Boston, the two closest points on the North Atlantic route.

  There was one excellent reason for this. The U.S. immigration authorities have a fully staffed operation in Shannon for checking passengers straight into the U.S.A. Thus passengers go through the American desk in the sprawling Irish airport, their passports are stamped, and the Shannon–Boston flight becomes essentially an internal journey, as if it were Chicago–Boston.