More Fools' Gold

By Bob Scott

Dispatched by his mysterious partner Helen, on an obscure mission to the far north of Scotland, Michael Scourie, together with his marine archaeologist daughter Sam and grandson Will are drawn into a dangerous world of spying & secrets.
Just 10 days later, a hunted agent forces them to aid his escape to France. There, they encounter a deadly foe, intent on a reckoning and their demise.
Faced with no other option, they have to commit a dangerous robbery and become criminals to save themselves.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Sep 4, 2021
• ISBN: 9781445750170

Book preview

Part I - Sutherland

1. A Mission

I glanced at my watch: twelve-thirty - lunchtime. A warm and sunny Tuesday in July. After eighteen months of Covid isolation it felt good to be just sitting on the steps of the British Museum, idly watching humanity pass by. London was quickly coming back to life.

On my right, sat daughter Sam, a marine archaeologist visiting for the summer from her university post in Rome. On my left, grandson Will, a gangly thirteen-year-old normally at boarding school in Suffolk.

We'd travelled down from East Anglia by train early that morning to undergo an hour-long queue for the privilege of viewing the prestigious new display, 'Treasure of King Tennes'. If the many other visitors had been given even the slightest knowledge of its much associated death and destruction they would have been even more amazed at the exhibits.

Just two years previously, we'd recovered the many priceless gold items from where they'd been hidden in an ancient Southern-French mine since 350BC. For reasons of self-preservation I'd donated everything to the museum anonymously. This was the first time since then that we'd been able to see them.

Unable to comment in public, we'd constrained ourselves to the pleasure of being able to look at the cleaned treasures in safety. However, I noticed that Sam seemed pleased with the museum's expert provenance. Perusal of the inscriptions agreed with her earlier hurried examination when there'd been a distinct possibility that we wouldn't live to see the end of the day.

Having skipped breakfast because of our early start and with only a cardboard cup of coffee since we passed through Liverpool Street station, my prime concern now, was where to satisfy a rumbling tummy.

I'd just suggested we walk to a pub in Tottenham Court Road, when a black cab approached across the concourse from our right. It had presumably been allowed in via the Great Russell Street entrance.

A young driver dressed in a grey suit jumped out to hurry in our direction; by his smile, obviously relieved to have found us. Michael Scourie? he enquired.

Yes. And you are? Ignoring my question he responded Helen would like a word.

Herself being my better-half, I asked Where? He turned and pointed back to the cab. I squinted into the bright sunlight as Helen's face framed by blonde hair appeared at the window, her hand beckoning urgently.

Feeling a little apprehensive at this uncharacteristic summons I looked to Sam and asked Are you OK with this?

She shrugged Why not?

As we entered the cab, Sam and Will were given a hug by Helen who sat on the jump seat, dressed in a smart light-blue two-piece. I got a smile and affectionate peck on the cheek with Hello Sweetie.

She turned to address the driver, waiting in his seat. Right John, St. Pancras please, then slid the glass closed.

From the rear seat, I hunched forward quizzically. What's up, Helen? You said you'd be in Oslo until next week, or are we starting our holiday early?

Unusually, there wasn't any preamble. No. I have a problem.

We were always told that in business there are no problems, only opportunities.

She gave a wry smile but went straight to the point. This is a real problem, Michael and, I need your help. My wariness immediately grew. Never before had she involved me in any of her business dealings. She looked across to Sam and Will, adding That means all three of you.

Will, no doubt sensing an adventure quickly responded Great! I was obviously taken for granted. Sam being decidedly more sceptical, asked What's going on, Helen?

I need you to go to Scotland.

That definitely surprised me. Scotland! I thought we'd arranged to meet at the cottage in Cornwall? She flashed her eyes and gave a little turn of the head over her left shoulder towards the driver. Keep your voice down, Michael. Then Yes, hopefully we can still be there next week but first I need you all in Lochacre.

At that point I really had to restrain myself, becoming more than a trifle exasperated. Lochacre was over six-hundred-and-fifty miles away on the far north-west coast of Sutherland, about as remote as you can get. It might sound very scenic but there wasn't a lot to do, other than walking the hills, birdwatching and drinking a lot.

Helen, there's bugger-all to do up there and it's the height of the midge season. We'll get eaten alive. Why us in particular?

She came back quiet but forceful. It's Lochacre because I believe something's going on. It's you because anybody else would stick out like a sore thumb!

Hah! You mean we wouldn't?

No! You have the perfect excuse for being there.

What on earth are you talking about? I've never even seen the place!

Exactly. Now you're taking your family to show them where your Great-Grandfather came from. And if you're wimpy enough to be worried about a few midges, the weather forecast is sunny with breezes so there won't be too many.

I sat back and calmed down, reflecting for several seconds before replying You've obviously thought this through.

Of course I have.

I turned to Sam and Will. What do you two think?

Will was all for it. Let's go, Grandad. It'll be fun.

I somehow doubted that but asked Sam? She looked concerned, with a distinct pause before reluctantly conceding. Just so long as there's no risk for Will.

I gave Helen a studied look. Well?

There shouldn't be any risk. I just need some eyes and ears up there for a few days, no more than a week - promise.

OK. What exactly are we supposed to be looking for?

She grimaced slightly. That's the problem. I'm not at all sure. This is all based on a snatch of conversation that I overheard in Oslo on Sunday. You'll just have to use your own judgement and ferret around for anything that doesn't fit.

Brilliant! said Sam, sarcasticly.

I didn't entirely believe this vagueness either but figured she must have good reason for not saying more. I sat thinking while they chatted.

As we drove up Tottenham Court Road then east along the Euston Road there were a lot of other black cabs about. It seemed they were rapidly being recovered from Covid storage in Essex fields.

Many of the smaller shops were still shuttered, several big chains had folded. I thought 'Whether malicious or accidental, the Chinese have an awful lot to answer for. Can we ever trust them again?'

Jolted from my reverie, it suddenly occurred to me to ask Helen, why are we going to St. Pancras and not Liverpool Street? We'll need a car. I take it you want us to collect our stuff from home and then drive up. If we leave early tomorrow, we can be there by Thursday evening.

She shook her head. That's too late. I need you there today.

Today. How on earth!

She reached into her hold-all to hand me a nondescript plastic shopping bag. In there are your boarding passes and passports for ID. I've already checked you in. You're booked on the four o'clock EasyJet flight from Luton to Inverness. It's now midday but you have at least two hours to get there. There's trains every twenty minutes-or-so.

Passports! How did you get them?

It was too late for me to call you at home this morning. I had to go there myself and collect them, together with your carry-on luggage. She indicated over her right shoulder to the front luggage area. I packed you each enough clothes and toiletries for a few days, together with cagoules and jumpers. It can be windy up there even if it's sunny.

Quite taken aback, I asked You did all that this morning?

Yes, I've not long returned and transferred to the cab. Lucky I caught you because as usual, all your mobiles are off. I've told you before to keep at least one of them on. Anyway, for the next few days I do need you all to keep them off and use these instead.

I looked into the bag. There were three smartphones with chargers.

I know you don't like to be contacted but be sure to keep them on and well-charged. I may have to call you at anytime.

We'll still need a car, said Sam.

Don't worry that's all taken care of. She tapped the bag. I reached inside to find a Hertz reservation for a saloon to be picked up at Inverness airport. You can easily be in Lochacre by this evening. It's only 100 miles from Inverness so shouldn't take you more than three hours.

I queried It’ll be getting late by the time we arrive. What about accommodation?

Unfortunately, she'd found the only hotel full which was annoying because there may have been people of interest staying there. Instead, she'd booked us in for B&B with a Mrs. McGregor in DunRoamin. It was quite nearby thus we'd at least be able to have meals in the hotel and keep an eye on things.

I laughed DunRoamin? You must be joking.

No, the Scots do have a sense of humour you know.

Right, how long's the booking for?

A week, just in case but I don't think you'll need that much.

OK.

Right. Now remember, you're just ancestral tourists. That will give us an advantage because I need pictures of everybody there.

She told us to use the phones for snap-happy shots of everything. Lots of selfies would be good with any strangers that were around in the background; not to make it obvious and send them to her straight-away.

All three of us nodded like obedient children taking instructions from a primary school headmistress.

The taxi came to a halt. Being last out, enabled Helen and me to briefly talk while Sam and Will collected our bags. As I disembarked she squeezed my arm and whispered Be careful Michael. She looked worried, something I'd rarely seen.

Our planned day having been rudely curtailed, we had to forego the steak & chips lunch that I'd promised. Sam bought the train tickets while Will grabbed us a newspaper, sandwiches and cans of drink from a kiosk.

Figuring that Mrs. McGregor's would be a strictly cash operation, I just had time before we boarded, to locate an ATM machine and use both my cards to ensure we had enough money.

Fortunately, our carriage wasn't full and we were able to find three seats where we could talk. As we glided out of St. Pancras, Sam leaned across in front of Will to quietly ask What the heck's going on, Dad? This is a big ask. Why did you give in so quickly?

We went into a huddle.

I think she's in serious trouble, Sam and we still owe her.

For the treasure? Will guessed.

Yes.

I did wonder how you'd arranged to get rid of all that, Grandad.

What makes you think she’s in trouble? said Sam.

Think about it carefully, both of you, because this jaunt could turn out to be very dodgy.

I explained my concerns. First, she could have sent anybody up to Scotland at that time of year, posing as tourists but she'd chosen us. Second, she could have sent somebody to collect our stuff and arrange the reservations but she took time out of a no-doubt very busy schedule to do everything herself. Third, she'd obviously thrown together the need for our involvement very quickly. And fourth, she made sure her driver couldn't hear.

That wasn't a regular taxi? Will asked.

No way.

Why does she use a taxi, surely she must have access to better cars than that?

Inconspicuous. In central London nobody takes any notice of a taxi.

But why didn't she want her own driver to hear.

I don't know Will, but it looks to me as if she doesn't even trust her own people on this, especially as in addition to the cell-phones she gave me this. I pulled a tablet-phone out of my pocket.

Sam asked What's that?

It was the latest model satellite-phone; programmed to only activate with our thumb-prints. Helen had set it up to automatically call her direct, no-one else. A lot of the far north still had very sparse mobile coverage, especially where we were going. She'd told me to only use it in an emergency.

How did she get our prints? Will asked.

From the door-entry security system at our house.

Sam looked pensive. She must have a jolly good reason for using us, Dad. Does she know we're all 'Special'.

I thought about it. Possibly, I expect she thoroughly checked me out when we first met. Anyway, maybe that's why she wanted Will along, to give us an extra edge.

'Special' was an innocent sounding term we used to describe people like us who were the first born of successive generations. A long string of being the first born was extremely unlikely. It usually took a hundred years to reach the fourth generation and even they did not have significant abilities.

By the fifth generation, people such as me developed cognitive powers which gave them foresight and advanced awareness of danger, but not usually until they were in their twenties.

The powers increased exponentially and came earlier with each generation, so my first-born daughter Sam was significantly stronger than me. Her abilities became apparent during her teens. Her son Will was seventh generation and even stronger. We'd known of his capabilities since he was a toddler.

Obviously, such talents could be misused, particularly by others forcing us to forecast gambling results, so we were always in some degree of danger. We consequently kept a very low profile and even our nearest and dearest didn't know.

There weren't many people like us, and for reasons of self preservation they were not obvious in their behaviour. When meeting an equivalent, our status was unlikely to become apparent unless in close physical contact. Even then, somebody of higher powers, for example ninth or tenth generation, could mask their abilities.

Sam had been thinking about our involvement. So it could be dangerous?

Possibly. I'm sure Helen would never knowingly put us at risk but she wouldn't send us chasing all the way up there just because of an overheard snatch of conversation.

Damn!

I know. It must be something very serious for her to even think of involving Will and, at least she'll be listening and keeping an eye on us.

He asked How's that, Grandad?

The phones. She's obviously not taking a chance that that our own mobiles aren't compromised. That's why she gave us these. I handed them each, one of the cell-phones. They were built with firmware to prevent anybody else hacking or tracing them. Helen didn't want them left on just for her to call us. She'd be tracking them and recording anything they picked up. Maybe even listening-in and watching if she had time.

Will was surprised. She can listen in?

Definitely, even if we're not on a call or using the cameras. So be careful what you say after we switch them on, which incidentally, we ought to do now.

Jesus! said Sam. Is there anything she can't do?

I just smiled and shook my head as I peeled back my sandwich wrapper. It tasted surprisingly good, ham & pickle with a sip of coke to follow.

Lunch over, I used my new phone to check out the Lochacre hotel. According to the local webpage it had a recommended restaurant. At least that looked to be something positive.

We then sat quietly watching as the suburbs of north London gave way to green fields in Hertfordshire. I was just dozing off when Will piped up Grandad?

What?

Is Helen 'Special'?

I don't really know. We've never discussed it. When we got together she made it abundantly clear that her past was a closed book and her present professional life always a no-go area. If she is 'Special' she must be very strong, otherwise I would have noticed by now.

You once told me that her job was something to do with accounting when companies get into trouble.

Yes, the technical term is Forensic Auditing.

Well, this doesn't sound much like accounting.

I know, but, just consider, if there's a lot and I mean a lot, of money involved, people will do almost anything. We saw that in France, remember?

OK. I get it.

Beside him, Sam frowned, not so easily convinced.

Will then asked Grandad?

What now?

If this place is in the far north of Scotland, then why's it called Sutherland?

"It's from way-back when that area was ruled by Norwegian Vikings. They called it Suðrland which meant Southern land because they were based over in Orkney.

Oh.

Right, now will you let me get some sleep for ten minutes?

Being the height of the holiday season and mid-afternoon, Luton Airport Parkway station was busy but it wasn't a problem. We only had to wait five minutes for a shuttle bus into the airport. With just hand luggage, we didn't have to check-in, plus Helen had taken the precaution of booking fast-track which got us through the security check quickly.

The flight itself took an-hour-and-a-half. We passed on the dubious hot snacks but did have some coffee. Will sat by the window, next to Sam. A bonus for him was the clear blue sky which gave lovely views of the whole spine of the UK.

Five miles below us, the harvest was well underway. Ripened golden fields and stubble stretched in all directions, far to the horizon. I leaned across to look and laughed I used to fly some of this route regularly, to and from Belfast. I remember one August the whole country was on fire. There was smoke everywhere, even up at 30,000 feet. Shortly after, they banned all the straw-burning. Pity, it looked very pretty.

We landed on schedule in Inverness at five-thirty. Ours was the only flight and as we didn't have the bother of immigration or collecting luggage we passed through arrivals quickly.

Collecting the motor came next. Helen had deliberately booked an inconspicuous beige-coloured Mondeo saloon. Even-so, it did some damage to my card but at least she'd chosen an automatic. I thought to myself, 'She'd better be prepared for some expenses on this trip.'

Sam took the precaution of taking photos all around the car's exterior, in case of later spurious damage claims by the hire company. Before signing the paperwork, we pointed out two minor stone-chips on a front wing.

It took until six-thirty to extricate ourselves from the terminal. However, I knew the light wouldn't be a problem as it was just a fortnight after the Solstice. With no cloud and the sun not setting until ten-fifteen, it wouldn't get much darker than twilight that night. We'd likely have a problem sleeping unless the rooms had thick curtains.

Coming out of the airport, I made a spontaneous decision to take a short diversion through Culloden to Drumossie Moor. That enabled us to show Will a cairn that marks the site of the 1746 Jacobite defeat which ended the rebellion led by Bonnie Prince Charlie.

As those sort of confrontations go, things were apparently very quick. It was all over in an hour. Thankfully, that was the last pitched battle ever fought on British soil. The visitor centre was closed by then, so Sam gave him the history lesson.

Discounting the remote possibility of finding a late open eatery on our route northwards, I asked Will to use his phone and locate something nearby. He soon found us a McDonald's, a mile south-west in a retail park on the A9.

I conceded Well, it may not be haute cuisine but we haven't eaten much today. At least the service is polite and fast and if you need it, they're open until midnight.

Back on the A9 heading north I began to relax and enjoy the scenery. It had already been a long hectic day. We went north of Inverness and across the Kessock bridge. It was over twenty years since I'd last been up there. Unlike then there weren't many oil rigs parked in the Moray Firth. That phase of industry was all-but finished. They were now more into de-commissioning rigs and building wind turbines.

A few miles further on, we branched west onto the single carriageway A385. From there onwards it became quieter and more scenic. Will, sitting alongside me noted It's very straight, not at all like the old roads down south.

I explained that the roads up there were mostly new routes when they were built and didn't follow ancient cart tracks as in England. Some were military, built by General Wade and Major Caulfeild after the 1715 Jacobite rebellion. They were intended to ensure the English could move troops quickly to quash any future trouble. Many of the later roads were built by Thomas Telford.

Sam asked Didn't he build canals?

Yes, canals, bridges, harbours, some of the greatest civil engineering projects of the early nineteenth century. Largely self-taught - brilliant engineer. He was the Go-to man of his day, equivalent to Sir Norman Foster.

I enjoyed that ride across-country to the west along the south bank of Loch Glascarnoch, beautifully glinting in the evening sunlight. Then up the north side