The weather remaining warm and dry, the working week ended.
Polloch’s men showered and shaved. Porch lights were left on, otherwise the bothies fell dark. At seven thirty the Strontian hotel bars had begun to fill.
The activist, ‘John’, paying cash in advance and giving a false name, had already secured Bed-and-Breakfast in one of the pleasant houses skirting the village (he remained booked into his hotel in Fort William, had kept his room key, and would later claim to have spent the night there). He parked his Ducati at the homely B&B, changed into casual wear and fifteen minutes later strolled into the Argyll. His pocket held a test tube in a rubber sleeve. In the test tube was a piece of chalk soaking in water.
The bar was busily quiet, yet to acquire the lubricated buzz that several rounds would encourage. Décor was acknowledged, if not satisfied, by the series of framed prints which hung at eye level. The most dramatic showed an armed clansman reclining against a grey granite gravestone, R.R. MacIan’s tribute to his people, the Glencoe Macdonalds.
The activist studied this pen and ink drawing, then eased between groups and reached the bar. The barman saw the broad shoulders come through a press of tourists and raised his eyebrows. ‘John’ ordered draught beer and took stock of the patronage.
Forestry workers were easily identified. Smart casual, neither local nor tourist, they relaxed on first name terms with the bar staff. The activist drank slowly, observing and wondering which of them was the torch.
His task was simply to pass a message to a man he would never meet. He had insisted on that to secretly impressed members of a five person cell, three of whom, each of a different sexual proclivity, had entertained him more than once; firstly by their willingness to relieve sexual frustrations he was experiencing and then by indulging him. His level of sociopathy was mild, and accommodated sexual gratification.
The message was to be a chalked ‘Go – Andrew’, this being the agreed signal to ‘proceed to maximum effect’ (Control’s phrase). ‘Brian’ would replace ‘Andrew’ in any instruction to take a lesser initiative. ‘Charlie’ was to be used to confirm that the mission was aborted. It was silly, of course, brainwave of the self-styled ‘Control’ who had discovered that Lochaber was notorious for black spots in cellphone communications.
The activist drained his pint and entered the gents toilet. He found that he was alone. Once inside a cubicle, he removed the chalk from the test tube and wrote the laconic message on the inside of every cubicle door. Wet chalk swiftly dried to a bold crust, easy to read. ‘John’ replaced the piece of chalk in the test tube, returned it to his pocket, and rinsed his hands at the suite of basins. He didn’t once glance at the mirror opposite.
Back at the bar, he ordered another beer and angled himself into a corner. Beer was anonymous here, and therefore preferable to his usual gin. The bar gradually crowded. He leaned against a wall in evident good humour, while ensuring all attempts at conversation were pleasantly unsuccessful.
He edged his way to the Gents on finishing a third beer, and there it was. Someone had erased the word ‘go’ from at least two of the messages. A further investigation was frustrated by comings and goings. The erasure of ‘go’ represented acknowledgement that all was well and action would be taken. He used the facility, overhearing Blue comment upon the heath fire at Acharacle. That further outbreaks were certain, was Blue’s theme. Your prophecy will soon be fulfilled, ‘John’ thought and smiled vaguely as he eased his way past a red veined face hurrying to the urinal.
Challenging himself to identify the contact, ‘John’ made his way back to the bar. It was not yet nine thirty. He ordered another pint of draught. All around was animated conversation. Seeing him alone, hospitable efforts were made to engage his conversation. Claiming an early return to Leeds, he met each enquiry with a repellent smile. Unable to determine who was the fire raiser, he drained his beer and returned to the cottage B&B where he told the lady of the house that he would be gone after an eight o’clock breakfast, if that was convenient.