The squad sat in the Community Centre and listened to rain strike small high level windows, foggy with condensation. The mood was listless. A dull quiet lay heavily in the hall. They were remembering without being reflective when the front door opened and a muscular anorak appeared.
Alex rose swiftly from an armchair and stepped forward. “Well, Archie,” he said, “what’s to do?” and the others looked up from cots and chairs.
“Euan Mackinnon called. He asked me to tell you all that the Daily News has broken the story about a helicopter over the farmhouse. There will be reporters sniffing around and Euan wants us to be very careful answering any questions. We are not to speculate. After all, none of us were there.”
“Okay Archie, we understand. That rain’s getting heavier. Looks like it’s on for the day,” Ruairidh had joined Alex and was staring beyond young Archie at slanting rain and a dripping door lintel. Behind him, Blue and George had risen from a sofa. Guy and Roland watched.
“It’s not that bad,” Archie said. “Anyway, I’ve given you the message. I knew you lot wouldn’t be in church. There’s another special service, for the dead journalists this time. It’s at four o’clock.” He hesitated, as if he wished to mention something, then turned to leave.
“A service for the journalists, you say,” Alex spoke harshly.
“At four o’clock,” Archie answered over one shoulder.
“But not for Noel,” Alex said, his voice hard and flat.
“His name wasn’t mentioned,” young Archie replied, and walked into a steady downpour.
Alex pulled on an anorak. “I’m off for a pint,” he said abruptly, and went outside.
Ruairidh straightened and glanced towards the closing door. Alex is no doubt off to see Noel’s sister, he thought. Make sure she doesn’t attend church today, certainly not at four this afternoon. In this weather, she’ll be at the hotel. Or maybe Alex feels starved of female company. “Hey,” he called encouragingly, “anyone fancy a beer? Pretty yourselves up to take advantage of a sodden Sunday.”
There was a disinterested response. George and Blue shook their heads and re-occupied the armchairs, each with a paperback. Roland went for his hot shower. Guy was poised to follow. Mackinnon’s instruction had stirred the memories their personalities were trying to deal with, each in his way. Ruairidh buttoned his coat and opened the door. Collar raised, he hurried after Alex.
The bar of the Argyll held a dozen customers. As he neared the barman, Ruairidh caught sight of Alex in a small porch. Telephone at his ear, he was listening intently. Ruairidh rested his midriff against the edge of the counter and ordered a beer. There was no sign of Noel’s sister.
“Where is she?” Ruairidh said when Alex entered from the porch, pint glass in hand, and joined him at the bar.
“She? Oh, you mean Susan?” Alex said. “Maybe driving around, viewing the views. Look, I’ll be leaving tomorrow night, going back to London.” Alex hesitated, then gazed at Ruairidh. “It’s all been a bit too much.”
“Jesus, that’s sudden,” Ruairidh said in surprise. “Wait a minute, tell me that you’re going back with Noel’s sister.”
“No,” Alex said. “Like I said, it’s all been a bit much…” His expression altered. Ruairidh half turned and saw a slim woman come towards them. He was conscious of a sudden tension in Alex who stepped towards her.
“Susan,” Alex made the introduction, “this is Ruairidh, one of the squad. He knew your brother quite well.”
“Hello, Ruairidh,” Susan pronounced the unfamiliar name with due care. “Noel wrote to me about working here. You were a journalist, am I right, Ruairidh?”
“Good God,” Ruairidh said, in unaffected astonishment, “Noel wrote to you about me?”
“He wrote me about all of you,” Susan replied. “You know, he liked it here. He’d had some bad experiences in Afghanistan.”
“Ruairidh knows about Lashkar Gah,” Alex said. “Noel told me what had happened there. Two days ago, I told the squad.”
“Susan, I’m so very sorry. We all are,” Ruairidh said. “Difficult to get our heads round it.” Susan was staring at Alex, her face expressing a mixture of anger and disdain and Ruairidh edged away. “If you two want to talk,” he seemed to say to himself.
There was no response. Ruairidh nodded and moved his glass of beer further along the bar, leaving them facing one another. Whatever was occupying Noel’s sister was none of his business. Lifting his pint, he stared at the relief barman on his customary early shift.
“You finished with Doctor Faustus, I heard,” he remarked. “What do you read after Marlowe?”
“Law,” the young barman replied.
Alex and Susan had moved to the farthest corner of the bar.
“Look,” Alex said, “there’s a special service at four this afternoon – in the old Telford church. You must have noticed it, it’s near the hotel.”
“Are you saying I’m supposed to go to church today?”
“No,” Alex said shortly. “ I’m suggesting that you don’t go. There’s to be some kind of sermon about the journalists. I don’t know how these Scots Presbyterians handle this type of thing. I thought it better that you knew.”
A tension between them was broken by an outbreak of laughter in the bar. The relief barman gravitated towards the joke. Ruairidh thumbed the mist on the side of his glass and eyed the malt whisky bottles lining the gantry opposite. Alex took a lingering pull at his pint.
“You will be going now, I suppose, job done,” Susan said, her voice low. “Noel was on to you from the start. He knew the Americans were afraid he would go public with their drone killings and cover-ups. You arrived so quickly after him. Noel wrote to me regularly. What are you? MI5? ”
“I am leaving here tomorrow night,” Alex said. “I’m off to London.”
“Back to barracks is it, Randy?” Susan asked bitterly. “That was his name for you, wasn’t it? Noel guessed you are ex-Army. Well, are you?”
“Something like that,” Alex said. He paused. “So why did he tell me everything? Why not keep quiet?”
“When he guessed you were ex-army he thought he might confide in you. It could do no official harm whatever, could it? He badly needed someone to talk to and you already knew about him,” Susan began to choke. “Your bosses must be delighted. My brother is no longer their problem, being dead.”
Tears bubbled at the corners of her eyes and Alex steered her into the porch adjoining the bar. She let him gently seat her at a bench beside windows that overlooked Loch Sunart and looked up at the big man placing his pint glass on a side table.
“Noel went to the local library to learn about things like bookkeeping so he could slip questions into conversations. You knew nothing at all about accountancy. Did you people not have time to properly prepare? Why did you follow him? Why not leave him in peace? Did you know that, in the end, he thought of you as his best friend.” Susan began to weep.
“I was his best friend,” Alex said. “And I knew damn well that he had me sussed. All the questions and quotes. There was one of Maynard Keynes I particularly remember; ‘Long run’ is a misleading guide to public affairs. In the long run, we are all dead. But I never told London he’d twigged.”
Susan sat, head bowed, at the window seat, fumbling for a handkerchief.
“Listen,” Alex said. “Before I go, there’s one last thing I should tell you,” the edge to his voice had Susan stare up at him bending intently towards her. “I told the whole squad the story, complete and unabridged, of what happened at Lashkar Gah. They will spread the word, that’s for sure.”
“I don’t understand,” Susan said, touching at her eyes then blowing her nose into the handkerchief. “You were there to keep Noel quiet, so why tell the entire squad?”
“Living and working together brings you close. We had a lot in common, Noel and me. He was my friend. It was the least I could do. Anyway, I’m gone tomorrow, back to the manor house.”
“What will your people do when they find out?” Susan asked.
“That I let Noel’s story get out?” Alex asked. “ Field punishment number one, tie me to a gun wheel…” he paused “…most probably nothing at all. No-one will want to advertise their role in this. America will cause havoc among our merchant bankers. Family members, that is the Establishment, will be vengeful in their turn, and in their world; at Badminton or Ascot, in their boardrooms, at their Clubs.”
“But you won’t be affected?” Susan persisted.
“I’m small fry,” Alex answered. “These big fish pay no attention to the likes of me. I’ll be given gardening leave and sent to some remote spot. Somewhere in Africa would be my guess, where I’ll marinate in the sun. Palm trees and a tropical sun, they still think of exile as a punishment.”
Susan stared at the big man, unable to decide whether or not he was being facetious.