Storiesonline.net ------- Church of Cyberscience by Scotland-the-Brave Copyright© 2008 by Scotland-the-Brave ------- Description: Starting out to do good, he slips from the path and goes from bad to worse. Power, influence, money and sex! It's only a matter of time before he's caught - isn't it? Story codes as we go this time. Codes: MF Mf mc ------- ------- Chapter 1: Meet the teach! Kenny MacGovern was nervous, as he prepared for his first day as a fully qualified, permanently appointed teacher. Sure he had taught classes before now, he'd had a full year as a probationer and that had taken him to three different schools in Dundee. His contact time with the students had moved from one or two closely supervised lessons per week, to two or three per day during that year. His mentor and assessor had been extremely pleased with his performance. He prepared his lesson plans well, had excellent delivery and his presence in the classroom kept the students focussed and well behaved - most of the time! His subject was computing, his passion in life, and he had graduated from Dundee University's School of Computing with an honours degree in Applied Computing. He had originally thought he was destined for the computer games industry. Dundee's degrees were unique in that they included a practical project that involved designing and programming a computer game as part of the course and software companies in the area were responsible for world-renowned games such as Grand Theft Auto. Even part way through his degree course, Kenny's name and reputation were known to the companies in the area. His professors had never come across such natural talent before. He was intuitive and incredibly quick at the keyboard, seemed to pick up coding languages like they were second nature and he had a logical brain that was able to deliver code that was as tight as a drum at the first attempt. He was imaginative too, and that added to the work he produced. Both prospective employers and the faculty were therefore amazed when he signed up for teacher training instead. No one could figure out why Kenny would opt for teaching over the leading edge and lucrative world of gaming. He did do some freelancing for the companies however, and he used some of the money he made from that to buy the props he intended to use as an innovation in his teaching. Now Kenny watched as the twenty or so second year pupils filed into his class. The thirteen and fourteen-year olds were boisterous and he had to quickly get them settled down so he could begin the lesson. He handed out a Nintendo DS games console to each pupil and talked them through how to use them. Kenny had them use the Dr Kawashima's Brain Teaching game to get their minds working effectively. Using the consoles also helped focus the pupils and the noise level quietened and then died as they concentrated on the mental exercises. By the end of the day Kenny asked himself why he had been nervous. His lessons had all gone really well and the idea of using the Nintendo DS had been inspired. His teaching career was off and running. ------- Over the next few weeks Kenny was excited by how effective the games consoles proved to be. The performance of his pupils was markedly improving, of that he had no doubt. This was why he had decided to go into teaching - he was making a real difference for these young people, helping them get the best start in life possible. The success of the consoles had Kenny thinking too. What if he could come up with a better program that Dr Kawashima's? He let his agile mind mull that over in his subconscious until the moment came that would change his life. On the last weekend in August, Kenny was sitting at his home computer set up, having just completed tweaking his lesson plans for the following week. "I know it's a pain but I really need to clean up my hard disk," he thought to himself. He called up the utilities menu and clicked on Disk Defragmenter. He clicked on the various tabs and then sat back to watch the display as the computer moved the little blocks that represented the files on the drive. From experience he knew the programme would take an hour or so to run. Defrag would rationalise the disk, bringing files together where that made sense and promote the most used files to space that would make them easier and quicker to access. The entire process made the performance of the system far more efficient. Just as he was about to get up and make himself a cup of coffee, his subconscious brought him to a shuddering halt. "What if I could develop a programme that did the same for people's brains? What if I could defragment the minds of the pupils in my classes? If I could do such a thing would it enhance their performance in the same way as the computer?" he asked himself. Gripped by the potential of his idea, Kenny raced for his second computer and immediately began to crack open the code behind the disk defragmenter programme. He was able to read the code easily enough and began to write a modified version aimed at achieving what he wanted. In true geek tradition, he worked on the code for twenty hours without a break until he was satisfied. He hooked up one of the How old is your brain Nintendo games and spliced his code into it. The effect was similar to the approach used by those using subliminal images and Kenny hoped the brains of his pupils would soak up the code and then their subconscious would run the program. If the program was assimilated successfully, it would run once a week when the individual was asleep. That would ensure any benefits continued throughout the person's life. Satisfied with his work, Kenny collapsed onto his bed and was quickly snoring loudly. When he awoke, his first thoughts were who he was going to test his programme on. He didn't think there was any potential danger for the individual and was more concerned about choosing a candidate that would allow him to gauge whether there was any noticeable improvement in performance. Kenny took a shower and looked at himself in the bathroom mirror. At twenty-two years of age, he was still very much a geek, a super geek, an 'uber' geek of the first order. He stood at 6' 1" with shaggy blonde hair and dishwater blue eyes. His complexion was pale from lack of exposure to sunlight and he had no real physique to talk of. The face staring back at him wore a worried look now. Was what he was about to do ethical? Was he entitled to play around with people's minds even if it was in the interests of improving their education? "What if it makes a really significant difference? Can I afford not to give these kids the chance something like this might represent?" Eventually after mentally arguing back and forth, Kenny decided he had to try his code. He settled on trialling the programme with one of his first year students. Mark Crawford was an average performer at best and if he didn't start to pick up soon, he would not be a candidate for sitting standard grade exams by the time he got to fourth year. Kenny had a troubled sleep that night as he continued to agonise over his decision. There was also a great deal of excitement and anticipation to contend with - if his programme worked it held out incredible possibilities. ------- The first year class was the third of the day for Kenny. He carefully singled out the Nintendo console with the amended game and made sure he delivered it to young Mark Crawford. The young man went through the normal ten minutes with the game. Kenny watched Mark closely. The programme had a signal built-in that was designed to help Kenny know that it had been 'uploaded' successfully. A few minutes later, Mark's right hand crossed his chest and he scratched his left shoulder. That was the signal and Kenny was now pretty sure the programme had at least been recognised by Mark's brain. He gathered the consoles back in and began the lesson proper. Kenny went through the same routine on the other two days he had Mark Crawford in his classroom that week and also in the following week. He was sure that Mark seemed far more alert in class and he even managed to give several answers when Kenny called on him during lessons. Overall though it was difficult to judge whether his performance was markedly improved. Kenny decided he would stage a snap test to help him assess whether the programme had worked or not. He managed to control himself and put off marking the test papers until Saturday afternoon. Even then he delayed the moment by putting Mark's paper to one side and marking all of the others first. As usual there were two real stars in the class - Melanie Beckford and Tracy Stubbs - both of whom scored 18/20. At last Kenny turned to Mark's paper and a few minutes later the grin on his face spread wider and wider. Mark had scored 19/20, top of the class! Kenny knew this couldn't be a coincidence. From below average student to front runner didn't happen overnight, it wasn't normally a feasible possibility. Now, with his brain defragmenter programme it seemed it was. Kenny's excitement hit new heights, as he thought about the rapid improvement he could achieve for all of his pupils if he used the programme on them. He immediately started to adapt more if the Nintendo games to include his programme. From Monday he intended to give the new games to all of his pupils. ------- For the remainder of the term all of Kenny's students had the programme uploaded into their memories and he watched them all give the telltale signal to confirm installation had been successful. Performance improved for all of them and his Principal teacher was delighted with the results he was achieving. To have every member of every class achieving over 80% in the pre-Christmas exams was phenomenal and even the head teacher asked to see Kenny to congratulate him. His students had also achieved vast improvements in their other subjects too, but the fact they had various timetables and were spread out across the school meant that no one made the connection back to Kenny's classes. Any remaining doubts that he had as to the morality of what he was doing vanished in light of the results - to him this really was a case of the ends justifying the means. Already nearly one hundred kids were performing much better because of his programme. These kids were excelling in all of their studies and the weekly running of the programme in their subconscious would ensure that that continued even if they didn't attend Kenny's classes any longer. There was only one blip in his otherwise rewarding first term. One of is second years was a constant nuisance in class. Colin MacNab's performance had improved just like everyone else's had, but he couldn't stop talking in class and was always trying to show off in front of the girls. Kenny was determined to do something about that and he'd had an idea. Like all good programmers, Kenny had left a backdoor into his brain defragmenter programme. He was now considering the possibility of trying to use that to improve Colin MacNab's behaviour in class. "Okay, Colin. I think I've had just about enough of hearing your voice when you're supposed to be busy. Stay behind after class please," Kenny ordered. MacNab's face showed concern and he did quieten down and get on with his studies. As the bell rang for the end of the lesson, Colin hung back while everyone else filed out of the room. As he approached Kenny's desk, Kenny invoked the trigger phrase for his backdoor. "Colin, have you ever heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" he asked. MacNab's eyes immediately glazed over and he stopped, rooted to the spot. While he had been hoping the trigger phrase would work, Kenny was still surprised at the reaction in the boy. "Colin, this is what the Church of Cyberscience can do for you - it's going to help you behave far better in classes. I want you to write me a 2,500 word essay on why it's important to behave in class and as you write it, you will tell yourself that you will be a model of good behaviour from now on. Do I make myself clear, Colin?" he asked. "Yes, Mr MacGovern," Colin intoned woodenly. "Good. Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended," Kenny said. Colin's eyes returned to normal and he regained the power of movement. "I want the essay handed in before classes start tomorrow morning," Kenny advised. The next morning Colin MacNab duly appeared and handed in a neatly wordprocessed essay with the word count at exactly 2,500 words. Kenny had Colin in a class later that day and he was pleased to see he was indeed a model of good behaviour. It wasn't until Kenny was sitting in front of his computer in his flat that night that the reality of what he had done fully hit home. "Oh my god! I controlled that boy's mind. I could have told him to do anything and he would have followed my orders to the letter. Jesus, what am I doing?" he asked himself. The enormity of what he had done washed over him. His conscience had grappled with the brain improvement programme, but he had rationalised that eventually. This was something else again; he had purposefully controlled the mind of one of his pupils and modified his behaviour. It didn't matter that the behaviour needed changing, surely this was a very bad thing to have done. Mind control was undoubtedly unethical. Kenny had another sleepless night as he fretted about his latest actions. When Colin's behaviour continued to be exemplary over the remainder of the week, he started to convince himself that what he done wasn't that bad. How had he harmed the boy after all? All he had done was remove a character trait that would undoubtedly hold Colin back at some point in his life. If anything, he had done young Mr MacNab a favour. The brain is an incredible organ. It does many things for us that we aren't even conscious of. Depending upon the individual it can destroy through stress, worry and attacks of conscience or it can defend by making a person believe things are better than they are, that they are in fact required, nothing wrong has been done. Over the next few weeks Kenny became convinced that his ability to modify behaviour using his backdoor and the trigger phrase were just another opportunity to help the young people he was teaching. Maria MacNally had missed a number of days of school suffering from migraines. She was a very bright girl and the programme had enhanced her abilities, but Kenny was worried about the number of classes she was missing out on. "Maria, could I have a word with you please?" he asked as the class ended. Maria was puzzled as to why he wanted to speak with her, but she walked towards his desk as the others left the room. Once the classroom was cleared, Kenny spoke the trigger phrase. "Maria, have you ever heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" he asked. Maria's eyes glazed over, just as Colin's had and Kenny knew she was under. "Maria, I understand that migraine is exacerbated by stress. I want you to write yourself an essay tonight on why it's not a good idea to let yourself become stressed. As you write, I want you to tell yourself that you will not become stressed anymore and that you will not suffer from migraine again. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes, Mr MacGovern," she replied. "Good. Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended," Kenny said. Maria blinked and then looked at Kenny as if waiting for him to say something. "Thanks, Maria. You look after yourself," Kenny said, dismissing her. His next intervention was with one of his third years who was having difficulties controlling his temper, then a second year girl who was lacking in self confidence and was being picked on by other girls. Before he knew it, using the trigger phrase was becoming part of his everyday concern for his young charges and he no longer saw it as a problem. That was about to change. Kenny's problems began again when a new pupil transferred into the school. Her parents had moved to Dundee as her father's company had moved him there. ------- Kenny was still very much a virgin with virtually no sexual experience at all. He was a geek after all and most of his teenage years had been consumed with studies and programming. He had one abiding memory with which to fuel his imagination and fantasies when he jerked off - which he did regularly. When he was seventeen, he had visited one of his friends, Luke, and had walked into Luke's bathroom to find himself face to face with Jennifer, Luke's fourteen-year old sister. Jennifer had just come out of the shower and stood completely naked. She screamed and covered up quickly with a large bath towel, but not before Kenny's greedy eyes had taken in her nakedness. It was Kenny's first and sadly only sight of a girl naked. The small breasts with their puffy nipples, Jennifer's little slit with a sparse covering of hair, were burned indelibly onto his brain. Now at twenty-two, Kenny the geek was still a virgin and he continued to obsess about the only naked girl he had ever looked at, building his fantasies around her. He had never admitted it to himself, but one of the subconscious reasons for becoming a teacher had been the prospect of being close to lots of young girls. Now fate really dealt him a hammer blow. The transferring student was called Belinda Freer and she was almost the exact age and likeness of Jennifer, his fantasy girl for more than five years now. Kenny gave Belinda a Nintendo DS on her first day in class and watched as her right hand crossed her chest to scratch at her right shoulder. He had his confirmation that his programme had been installed and then his brain short-circuited. His fantasy girl was sitting only a few feet away and he had the means to completely control her. Five years worth of the erotic images he had created in his own head bombarded his brain and he found himself panting behind his desk. Alone in his bed that night, Kenny found himself harder than he could ever remember. He took his cock in his hand and stroked it while picturing Jennifer in his head. The image morphed into one of Belinda and before he knew it his cream was exploding all over his chest and stomach in powerful spurts. "Oh god, no. Everything I've done with the programme so far has been good; it's helped my students. I can't possibly let myself use it for this. She's only fourteen, innocent, immature. She doesn't want this, oh god, stop it!" he berated himself. Over the next few weeks he found himself staring at Belinda in class and his daily masturbation now frequently featured her instead of Jennifer. He had conditioned himself to believe that using the backdoor in the programme was for his pupils' benefit. The fact that that would all unravel if he now used it to take advantage of Belinda was probably the thing that held him back for a few weeks. If he gave in then he was admitting his previous use of the trigger phrase was also immoral. Eventually however, the years of fantasy sex took over and Kenny's little head overruled his big head. He was lost. "Belinda, I've got one or two things I need to go over with you on this last assignment. Could you hang back for a few minutes?" he asked. Kenny was more nervous than he had ever been in his life. He was descending into a pit, planning to use his trigger phrase and Belinda for his own pleasure. Sweat beaded on his forehead as the class drew to a close and the bell rang. He had planned it for this lesson, the last of the week. All of the other second year pupils made a dash for the door of the classroom, but Belinda gathered up her books and bag before walking towards the front of the class. Kenny was so nervous - and if he would admit it to himself, excited - he found it difficult to say the trigger phrase. At last he managed it. "Belinda, have you ever heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" he asked. His cock hardened as soon as her eyes glazed over. The school uniform was dark blue and white and Belinda was wearing a blue skirt, white blouse and blue and white stripped tie. Kenny stared at her developing chest and long legs, his tongue flicking out to moisten his suddenly dry lips. He walked round the young girl slowly, soaking up her beauty from every angle. "Belinda, you're on a desert island and there is a warm breeze blowing. You can feel it caress your breasts and you enjoy the sensation of it," he whispered. "Yes, sir," Belinda replied. Kenny moved in front of the frozen girl and hesitantly raised one hand to gently brush her breast. He had never before touched a girl's breast before and the thrill that shot through him was exquisite. "Can you feel the breeze?" he asked, his confidence growing when she didn't react badly to his touch. "Yes, sir. I can feel it on my chest and it feels kind of tingly. Mmmm, I think like it," Belinda responded. Kenny could feel her nipple harden under his palm and he was in heaven. "Belinda, the breeze is strong enough to lift your skirt and caress your legs with its heat. Can you feel it?" he asked breathlessly. Kenny's hand dropped to lift her regulation skirt and he let his hand glide over the silky smooth skin of Belinda's inner thigh. "Yes, sir. I can feel it, that's nice too. The breeze is so warm and gentle on my skin. Kenny could not believe just how smooth and sensuous the skin under his hand was. He let himself drift upward towards Belinda's sex and choked back a moan of excitement. If he had doubts before about using the trigger phrase, they were banished in that instant when his fingers traced across the front of the panties Belinda was wearing. Kenny had never touched a girl like this before and his excitement went off the scale. He felt his cock pulse and explode in his pants and he shuddered as his cum filled his boxers. He took a few moments to recover himself and then rushed round the desk to grab a tissue to try and soak up the copious spend he had just experienced. "Belinda, I want you to write an essay for yourself over the weekend. The essay will deal with the warm winds of the world and how you enjoy the feel of them on your skin. As you write, you will realise that you find me very attractive. I make you hot and when you think of me you get excited, do you understand?" Kenny asked. "Yes, sir. I'll write the essay and find that I think you're hot," Belinda intoned. "Good. Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended," Kenny said. "Have a nice weekend, Belinda," Kenny said. "Thank you, sir," she replied, still looking a little confused. ------- Chapter 2: Deeper into the pit The full force of Kenny's conscience hit him when he was home in his flat over the weekend. As Saturday rolled into Sunday he was beside himself with guilt at having taken advantage of the young girl, a fourteen-year old who was in his care after all. "I'll just reverse everything when I see Belinda on Monday," he told himself. Having taken that decision he felt a little better about himself and even managed to eat some food. His attention returned somewhat too and he was able to work on one of his freelance projects for the games companies. His first class with Belinda was just before lunchtime on Monday morning. Kenny was unsettled to discover Belinda was constantly stealing glances at him. If a fourteen-year-old could have a sultry, smoky look in her eyes then Belinda had mastered it and turned it on him whenever he happened to look her way. Once again he asked her to remain behind after class and wasted no time in putting her under. "Belinda, have you ever heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" he said. Once Belinda's eyes glazed over he took a moment to consider what he had to do. Kenny decided he needed to question what Belinda had done over the weekend to gauge how much he had to undo. "Belinda, did you write your essay over the weekend?" he asked her. "Yes, sir," she replied. "And what happened as you wrote about the hot winds, Belinda?" "I had to stop writing six times, sir," she answered. Her reply puzzled Kenny and he knew he had to explore it. "Why did you have to stop writing, Belinda?" he asked. "As I was writing I could feel the winds blowing over me and caressing my body, sir. I kept thinking that it was your hands stroking me, playing with my titties and my little cunny," Belinda responded. Kenny was stunned. He had certainly programmed her to think about him and to find herself attracted to him, but he hadn't suggested going anywhere near as far as this. "Why did you stop writing?" he asked again. "I was getting so hot, sir, that I had to rub myself down there to get that special feeling," Belinda answered. Again Kenny was taken aback. His instructions seemed to have driven Belinda much further than he had intended. The image of her rubbing herself had him hard and aching in his pants, but he was determined to fix what he had done. "Belinda, my instructions were only to find yourself attracted to me. Why did you find it necessary to masturbate?" he asked now. "I was already attracted to you, sir. You're pretty cute and smart and everything. When you instructed me to find you attractive, I assumed I had to feel more than I already did. You might recall I said that I would find you 'hot' - that's why I said that, sir. When I imagined your hands on me it just made me feel so good and I had to do something to stop the itch in my cunny," she replied. Kenny was finding Belinda's revelations difficult to take in. Had she just said she found him attractive before he had programmed her? He felt his resolve to reverse his programming weaken and knew he had to act quickly before he lost it completely. "Belinda, the Church of Cyberscience can do lots for you. Tonight I want you to write another essay, this time about cold arctic winds. As you write you will tell yourself that your feelings about me were merely a crush and that you have moved on from them. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes, sir," the girl replied. "Okay, the Church of Cyberscience is ended," Kenny said. Belinda's eyes regained their focus and she gave Kenny one last smoky look before leaving the classroom. He slumped into his chair and let out a deep sigh. Kenny knew he had been within a hair's breadth of realising all of his fantasies, but he had managed to stand firm and that was something. ------- When he was relaxing after a meal that night in his flat, a thought occurred to Kenny. He physically slapped himself on the right side of his head as he came to the realisation that he hadn't used the brain defragmenter on himself! He was already a pretty quick study, but what would the programme do to him? How much improvement could he get in his own performance? Kenny decided there was no time like the present and he retrieved one of the consoles and worked his way through ten minutes of the mental problems. When his right hand crossed his chest to scratch at his left shoulder, he knew what it meant, but didn't feel any different. Kenny wandered around the flat, looking at familiar things and trying to identify whether his mind was working better than it had before. There was nothing. Disappointed, he turned in for the night. As Kenny slept the programme ran in his head. Memories were rationalised and the internal organisation of his brain was maximised for efficiency. Those parts used most frequently were placed so that they would respond even quicker than normal and key brain functions had all of their associated thoughts grouped around them. When Kenny woke up he could feel immediately that something had changed. His mental processes just seemed sharper somehow and he had no difficulty in bringing things rapidly into focus. He smiled to himself as he realised the programme must have run while he had been sleeping. He now had all of the advantages that his students had. Kenny was cheerful as he made his way to the school. He fully expected Belinda to be back to normal after his instructions the day before and he would be guilt free. He was therefore surprised when her class came around to see that, if anything, her looks were even more smouldering than they had been before. He knew he would have to investigate what had gone wrong. At the end of the lesson he quickly put Belinda under and began to explore what was going on. "Belinda, I asked you to write another essay last night. What happened?" he asked her. "I wrote an essay about cold arctic winds, sir. As I wrote I realised that I had a schoolgirl crush on you and that that wasn't right. The more I thought about it, the more I came to realise that I had to grow up and stop such childish behaviour. That's when I decided that the crush was more like love. I've decided I love you, sir," Once again Kenny was taken by complete surprise. Belinda had managed to interpret his instructions in a way that he had never considered. She was now declaring she loved him and he felt his heartbeat quicken. This was not what he intended at all, but somehow his altered brain didn't feel as bad about it as he had done previously. One of the effects of the re-ordering and re-structuring had been to push his conscience deeper and raise those things that gave the brain pleasure - his sexual fantasies - closer to the top of his consciousness. "I felt much better when I decided it was love, sir. Even better than I did at the weekend. I rubbed my little cunny for nearly two hours last night just thinking about you until I fell asleep exhausted." Kenny's cock was pulsing strongly as he listened to Belinda describing what she had done. He felt a faint echo of the guilt he had felt the day before, but his re-ordered brain thrust it aside in favour of the more pleasurable images he used for masturbation. He looked at the beautiful girl in front of him and in that moment - he crossed the Rubicon. "Belinda, the Church of Cyberscience can do many things for you. Tonight I want you to come round to my flat to write your next essay. This essay will be on the things you think of doing with me when we're finally alone together. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes, sir," she replied dutifully. "Good. Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended," said Kenny. ------- Belinda told her parents she had finished her homework and was going round to a friend's house. There was nothing unusual in that and her mom and dad simply smiled and nodded their acceptance. She was excited. She had decided that she loved Mr MacGovern. Belinda could vaguely remember that he had instructed her to come to his apartment to complete a homework assignment. The possibility that something might happen between them while she was visiting him were what was exciting her and already she could feel her cunny beginning to tingle and juice up. Even walking to Mr MacGovern's was thrilling. Each step caused her thighs to rub together and the delicious friction focussed her attention between her legs. There was also the mental stimulation she gave herself, as her re-ordered brain promoted images of her with her teacher and the things they could do together. She was unfamiliar with the Dundee streets where her teacher's apartment was and it took her a few minutes to locate the right building and to press the buzzer that had his name printed next to it. "Ooohhhh, this is it! I'm really going to be in Mr MacGovern's apartment, in his apartment and all alone with my hot teacher," she told herself. Belinda was so engrossed in her own vivid fantasies that she didn't notice how nervous Kenny was as he let her in to the apartment. His senses picked up immediately on the scent of arousal coming from the young girl and he thought he had never smelt anything so sweet. "I've loaded Word for you on this computer. Why don't you just get started on your essay," Kenny managed to say. "Thanks, sir," she replied. Kenny just stood and watched as Belinda settled down in front of the computer and began writing. Her resemblance to Jennifer was unnerving. She had shoulder length blonde hair and an athletic, almost boyish figure. He could see that she was already fidgeting in her seat and he assumed that writing the essay was affecting her just as she had described to him before, making her wet, excited, hot. The thought that she was imagining him stroking her flesh had him painfully hard once more and he crossed behind her, letting his hands fall to her shoulders. Even that light touch was enough to elicit a moan from Belinda and her head fell forward, her chin resting on her chest. "Oh sir," she whispered. "What? What is it Belinda? What's wrong?" he asked. "Umm, nothing sir." "What are you thinking about? What's going through your head right now, Belinda?" "Ooohhh, sir. I can't say. Don't make me," she groaned. Kenny began to gently massage her neck and shoulders. He wondered if her use of 'don't make me' held any significance and decided to go with it. Perhaps she was responding to the fact he was a teacher, an authority figure. "Tell me, Belinda. Tell me now, do as you're told," he ordered. "Ummm, I'm thinking about you touching me, sir," she managed to get out. "Where am I touching you Belinda? How am I touching you?" "Oooh, sir, you're cupping my titties and stroking them," Belinda moaned. Kenny let her words guide him. Nervously, his hands dropped from her shoulders and traced down the front of the T-shirt she was wearing. Belinda's breasts weren't big enough to warrant a bra and he felt the firmness of her small orbs through one thin layer of cotton. His own breathing was laboured now and he felt her nipples harden and poke through the cotton. Suddenly, Belinda stiffened and Kenny felt a shudder go through her body. "Nnnnnnggggggg, uuhhhhhhhhhhh," she moaned. He spun the computer chair round and took in the sight of her in the throes of an orgasm. Her young cheeks were flushed pink and her hands were bunched into fists, pressed hard against the 'v' of her crotch. When Belinda regained her breathing she reached forward hesitantly for the obvious bulge in Kenny's trousers. He quickly stopped her, scared that he would cum at her first touch. He had something else in mind, something that had been brewing for five long years. "Why don't you go take a shower and freshen up," he suggested, "I've left a fresh bath towel in there for you." Belinda smiled in appreciation. She knew she was very sticky between her legs and the thought of cleaning up, perhaps in preparation for something else, was a welcome one. Once she was in the bathroom, Kenny began pacing up and down in the hallway. This was it. For five years he had fantasised about what would have happened that day at Luke's house if Jennifer hadn't screamed and covered up. What if she had let him look at her body? What if she had welcomed his eyes on her nakedness? What might have happened between them? He had imagined all sorts of different scenarios and it was this obsession with his one-time sexual experience that had undoubtedly weakened his resolve to use his control over Belinda. The shower was shut off and he heard her climbing out of the tub. He prepared himself to re-live the moment, to make his fantasies become reality. With a trembling hand he reached for the door handle and pushed the bathroom door open. Belinda stood with her back to him as she dried herself with the fluffy, white bath towel. As he stared at her with hungry eyes, she slowly turned and let the towel drop from her fourteen-year-old body. Kenny gasped. He was faced with almost the perfect replica of that day five years ago. Belinda's developing breasts had the same puffy nipples and her still immature slit had only a sparse covering of coarse hair. Belinda was nervous at first, but when she saw the reaction her body was having on her teacher she relaxed and let him stare at her. "Are you okay, Mr MacGovern?" she asked at last. Her words seemed to break the spell that had fallen on Kenny and he was able to take a halting step towards her. "You are beautiful, just look at you, absolutely beautiful," Kenny croaked. "Are you going to touch me again? I really liked it, it's okay, you can if you want," she breathed. Belinda's heart rate had increased dramatically, as her own recent dreams of doing something sexual with her teacher seemed about to be realised. "Can I see your, you know, can I see your thing? I've never seen one before," she fluttered. Almost in a dream himself, Kenny's hands went to his pants and he loosened them, letting them drop to the bathroom floor. He stood now in his boxers and a T-shirt, his boxers tented in a sure sign of his state of excitement. He tugged at the underwear, freeing up his hard cock and let the garment drop to the floor too. It was Belinda's turn to gasp now. His cock looked impossibly large, its head flared, purple and angry looking and she found it oddly hypnotic. Belinda wasn't as confident or sure about sex with her teacher any more, but she was still mesmerised by the hard appendage in front of her. She reached out one hand and stroked softly along the length of him, only to have Kenny explode all over her hand and her bare chest. "Aaarrrrggggggg!" he groaned. The whole picture was just too much for Kenny. He had imagined it so many times, the vision of his naked little nymph brazenly displaying herself for him and then asking to see his cock had him on a hair-trigger. The velvety soft touch of her hand was enough and he grunted as he fired five large spurts of cream all over her. Belinda was amazed at what had happened. She knew the theory of sex from class, but dry diagrams and medical terminology had not prepared her for the reality of the male ejaculation. "My, that was like, totally awesome!" she said, eyes wide. "Maybe we should both have a shower to clean up?" Kenny suggested. The ice had most certainly been broken and they shared a shower together. Kenny was less nervous about touching Belinda and she let her arousal at his caresses block out the momentary fear she had experienced. As they cleaned each other, soaping sensitive parts, the inevitable happened and Kenny rose once again to the occasion. They dried each other, two virgins unsure of their next move, but now committed to consummate what they had started. Kenny stooped and picked Belinda up. She weighed perhaps ninety pounds at most and felt as light as a feather even to his relatively weak physique. He carried her through to his bedroom and laid her reverently on top of the duvet. "You're perfect. I couldn't wish for anything more and I feel as if I should simply worship your beauty," he breathed. Belinda flushed pink once more at his words and gulped as Kenny's hands parted her thighs and his head dropped between them. What he lacked in experience he intended to make up for with enthusiasm and his fantasies had certainly included tasting his dream girl's juices. Kenny guessed he was doing something right by Belinda's reaction. He used his tongue to swab the length of her juicy little slit, forcing her nether lips apart and continuing all the way to the top. He felt the hard nubbin under his tongue and guessed it was her clit so he licked that for all he was worth too. Belinda responded by jerking spastically around on the bed and Kenny knew he was touching the right spot. "Oooohhhhh, uh huh, uh huh, yeeessssss, uh huh, uh huh, aaaahhhhhh!" Belinda wailed. Kenny had read that breaking the hymen could be painful for a girl and he guessed that now would be a good time to try and penetrate Belinda, while she was at the height of her arousal. He hurriedly rolled a condom onto his cock and lined its head up with her little pussy. "Oh god yes, sir. Put it in me, put it in my little cunny. I want it so bad, sir. Please fuck me, please put your big hard cock in my little cunny" Belinda begged. Kenny pressed forward and felt how impossibly tight her pussy was. He immediately felt the obstruction of her hymen too and promised himself he would take it slow and gently. "This might hurt a little, Belinda. I'll try and be gentle," he said. Before he could say another word, Belinda's heels hooked round his hips and she pulled him forward with all of her strength. Fortunately for her, her hymen wasn't very strong and he felt himself pushing through it and into her tight sheath. Her juices made his path easier and he knew enough to withdraw slightly to oil up his cock before pressing forward again. "Are you okay?" he panted. "Oh god, you're inside me. I can feel you inside me, Mr MacGovern has his cock inside my cunny and it's even better than I dreamt it would be. I feel so full, but it's a nice full, don't stop now, push!" she ordered. Kenny began a slow rhythm, trying to pace himself and to let Belinda get used to his size. He couldn't believe just how wonderful it felt to be stroking into her little fourteen-year-old pussy. He was no longer a virgin and he had lost his cherry with what amounted to his dream girl of the past five years. There was no guilt for having altered the young girl's mind, no guilt for her lost innocence and he let himself believe the passion and words of encouragement were genuinely hers. Any idea that his programme had in anyway caused Belinda to act in the way she was was totally lost in the midst of their frenetic coupling. Kenny increased his pace and felt Belinda responding, raising her hips from the bed to meet his thrusts. "What am I doing, Belinda? What am I doing to you?" he asked. "Oh sir, you're fucking my baby pussy! You're fucking my little cunny with your big hard cock!" she cried. "Do you want it, Princess? Do you want my cock? Tell me, do you like me fucking you?" he demanded. "God yes, sir, yes! I want your big cock inside me; I want it inside me forever! Fuck me, sir. Fuck me!" she responded. The feeling of being in control, of his power over her and hearing Belinda's innocent mouth speaking the vulgar words, announcing her need for him, was enough to put Kenny over the edge for the second time that night. He slammed deeply into her and strained as he felt his seed fire into the condom. His orgasm was matched by another from Belinda and they both slumped on the bed in exhaustion. Kenny reached for her and drew her into a hug. "Was I okay?" she asked shyly, "I didn't disappoint you?" "You were perfect," he replied truthfully. ------- Over the course of only six months, Kenny had gone from being a nervous but highly committed and dedicated new teacher to a man who was guilty of outrageous abuses of his position. He continued to live out his fantasies with Belinda and his re-ordered brain soothed any qualms that he may have started with. He convinced himself that the whole affair with Belinda was actually of her making - she had seduced him. She had admitted she was attracted to him before he had ever tinkered with her mind after all and her constant desire to be with him proved she wanted the relationship at least as much as he did. He didn't realise that the control, power and influence his programme gave him was draining away the last remnants of the young man he had been. ------- Two events happened over the next few months that had a further impact on Kenny's behaviour and how he used the game consoles. The first was that Belinda all but betrayed their relationship and Kenny had to deal with the fall out from that. A devout Roman Catholic, Belinda confessed her sins to her priest. "Bless me Father for I have sinned," she whispered in the confessional. "Confess your sins before Christ child," the priest responded. "Father, I have had sex with one of my teachers. I enjoyed everything he did to me and to make things worse, he used a condom," Belinda said quietly. Father Mulligan was shocked to the core. He recognised the voice and knew that fourteen-year-old Belinda Freer was sitting on the other side of the screen. How was it possible that she had acted as she claimed? "Surely you have not partaken of the full sins of the flesh child, not at your age. Tell me what activity you have actually engaged in?" Father Mulligan asked. Hesitantly, Belinda described the detail of what she had done with Kenny. As she described everything that she had done the priest felt his stomach cramp with shock. He was used to the games that some young girls indulged themselves in and had listened to many a tall tale in the confessional. This however, had the sound of truth about it, there was too much detail involved, too much passion in the young girl's description. When Belinda finished her confession, Father Mulligan completed the catechism by rote. "God the Father of mercies, through the death and resurrection of his Son, has reconciled the world to himself and sent the Holy Spirit among us for the forgiveness of sins; through the ministry of the Church may God give you pardon and peace, and I absolve you from your sins in the name of the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Spirit." When Belinda left the confessional to make her penance, Father Mulligan sat in contemplation. He was fearful for the young girl's well-being as much as her soul and felt it was his duty to take whatever action he could without breaking the sanctity of the confessional. He decided he would need to approach the school's head teacher and pass on an anonymous allegation. The first that Kenny knew there was a problem was when he was called to the head teacher's office and advised that he was to go on leave with immediate effect. "Why?" Kenny asked. "A serious allegation has been made against you, one that will need to be investigated. While the investigation is taking place, it would be better for all concerned if you weren't in the school," the head replied. "It seems to me that that that kind of prejudges any investigation. If I'm off from work, some people might see that as an indication of guilt. Can I be told who has made these allegations and what I'm supposed to have done?" Kenny asked. "The allegations are of a sexual nature and they have been made by Father Mulligan on behalf of one of his congregation," the head teacher answered. "But that's ridiculous! Who is this member of his congregation? What am I supposed to have done to him or her?" Kenny demanded to know. "I'm afraid I can't say anything further. As I say, an investigation will need to take place and until that is concluded I would like you to go off on leave," said the head. Kenny left the head teacher's room. He knew this had to involve Belinda and he mentally kicked himself for not taking steps to ensure she never breathed a word about their relationship. One thing was clear - he would need to address that as soon as possible and certainly before any investigation could get underway. The difficult thing now would be how he could contact Belinda without anyone else knowing. No doubt her parents would have been told about the allegations by now and she would be under strict supervision. Given that he himself had all but been suspended by the school, there would be no opportunity to approach the young girl in class either. Kenny wondered whether his trigger phrase would work if he sent it in either a text or an e-mail message. He thought it was worth a try and if he could do that in a way that didn't link the message to him there would be little risk. On his way home from the school he stopped and purchased a new mobile phone. He planned to use the phone twice - once to text Belinda and then hopefully a second time to take the call he would ask her to make. After that he would dispose of the phone and revert to his normal mobile. Once inside his apartment he wasted no time in composing a text message and sent it to Belinda's mobile number. Belinda, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you? Ring this number as soon as you are alone. His mobile rang only a few minutes later, suggesting that Belinda had been kept off of school and was herself at home. "Is that you, Mr MacGovern?" Belinda asked. "Yes, Princess." Kenny decided that it would be safest to use the trigger phrase again now to ensure he really did have control of the girl. He did so. "Belinda, I need you to tell me whether you have told anyone about us?" he asked her. "Only Father Mulligan, sir, but somehow it's got back to my parents and the school. I'm so sorry Mr MacGovern," Belinda answered. "Belinda, you need to tell yourself that you can never reveal any of the details of our relationship to anyone. You will tell the police and anyone else that asks you, that you made up what you told Father Mulligan. Tell them you made it all up because you have a crush on me. It never happened. Do you understand?" he asked. "Yes, sir. I understand and will tell them that I made it all up. Does this mean we can't see each other again?" she asked him. "Not for a little while anyway. We'll have to wait until this all calms down. Now, the Church of Cyberscience has ended," he said. ------- Accusations against teachers were surprisingly common and the investigation wasn't long in concluding that Kenny had done nothing wrong. Belinda's assertion that she had in fact made everything up, that what she had told Father Mulligan was what she dreamed of happening with her teacher rather than reality, was enough to put him in the clear. Once back in his classroom, Kenny took steps to amend his programme so that everyone who used the consoles now had an instruction that would ensure they never discussed anything he did with anyone else. The second thing that affected Kenny happened the same week that he returned to the school. The head teacher asked to speak to all of the teaching staff at the end of Wednesday's classes and he informed them that the school had been selected for an inspection by school inspectors. Kenny was alarmed by this news. It was possible that the inspectors would examine his use of the games consoles in his classes and that might lead to unhelpful questions. While he was pleased at the improvements he was achieving in terms of his students' results, he certainly didn't want his methods exposed. As a result Kenny knew he would have to be far more circumspect in his use of the consoles. Sitting alone in his apartment - and missing Belinda - he put some serious thought into how to continue to use the consoles in the future without drawing attention to himself. The first thing that occurred to him was that all of his students achieving such high marks was probably going to be seen as very suspicious. He would need to change his methods so that only some students were given the consoles with the programme, not all of them. He decided to focus on those that were already high achievers and any who had behavioural problems in his classes. Such an approach would still mean that the remainder of the students would at least have a calm environment in which to learn and that would benefit them a little. Having proven to himself that his trigger phrase worked even in written messages, Kenny also decided to build in some other safeguards for the future. Eventually the students he had uploaded the programme to were going to leave the school and he would lose track of them. There was a potential danger that his instruction to keep quiet might decay over time and Kenny felt it would be helpful to make arrangements so that he was able to re-inforce it. He decided that he would amend the programme again. The programme ran on a weekly basis to defragment the student's brains on a regular basis. It would be simple matter to have the weekly update also include an instruction to keep Kenny's activities a secret. He also decided that the programme should include an instruction to all of the students to make contact by e-mail at least once a year. That way he would be able to keep track of them and also renew the 'keep quiet' instruction annually if the weekly re-inforcement didn't work for any reason. Satisfied that he had all of the bases covered, Kenny knew he would only need to use the consoles once more for each student to upload the amended programme. After that they could be put away until the following year when he would have a new intake of first year students to consider. Two weeks later the school inspectors were all over the school, but Kenny's use of the games consoles wasn't picked up. He was commended however, for both the quality of his teaching and the results he was achieving with his students. Another option for removing potential problems in the future would of course have been to simply stop using the games consoles altogether. The fact that such an idea never entered Kenny's head was a sign that he was already hooked on the power and influence his control gave him. He convinced himself the programme was all about improving the performance of his students and raising their educational attainment, but deep down he knew the control was what he now craved. ------- Over the course of the next few years Kenny was far more selective in his use of the programme. To cover the fact that he could no longer see Belinda, he selected another young student each year and used the trigger phrase to encourage her to be attracted to him. The abuse of his position and of the girl was even easier the second time around. Eventually it became safer to see Belinda again, but Kenny found that he had moved on from his fantasy girl and his interest waned dramatically. Belinda was growing up too and he found his attraction remained focussed on younger girls. By majoring the use of the programme on the top five percent of pupils and the trouble-makers, Kenny was able to continue to improve their performance significantly. He only ever used the consoles with the programme on new students once, now as he knew once was enough. He continued to use consoles with the unaltered Dr Kawashima programme as a novelty in the classroom and they seemed to give all of the students a little boost. After only three years as a teacher, Kenny applied for a Principal Teachers post in neighbouring Fife. His results and reputation had spread and he was perhaps the only one that was surprised when he was offered the post. Kenny was delighted and excited at the prospect of a new challenge at a new school. The salary of a principal was also higher than what he had been receiving previously, still not great, but a little better. Over the course of the next two years Kenny systematically singled out the high achievers and trouble-makers amongst his new students and used the programme on them. His new head teacher was delighted at the results he achieved even in his first year. E-mails had also begun to arrive from those who had left school too, most of them advising that his former students were now studying at university. Kenny was pleased to see that the programme continued to work effectively. Not only were his former students excelling in their advanced studies, his instructions to contact him and to keep his secret were also holding. After two years as a Principal Teacher, his head teacher asked to speak to him and Kenny made his way to the school office. "Take a seat Kenny. Can I offer you tea or coffee?" the head asked. "Tea would be nice," Kenny replied. The head asked his secretary to rustle up two cups of tea and then re-joined Kenny. "Kenny, you've done an absolutely fantastic job since you joined us," he head started. "Thank you," Kenny replied. "Listen, I won't beat around the bush. There's a head teacher vacancy coming up in the region and I think you should be putting your name forward for it." Kenny was stunned. He had only been teaching for five years and considered himself far too young to even be thinking about a position as a head teacher. He was even more amazed to go through the interviewing process and find that he was offered the post. Another new challenge awaited him now as the head teacher of St Anne's High School. Again the salary was higher, but he was surprised it wasn't far more if he was honest with himself. With responsibility for a school with twelve hundred pupils, he had thought the pay would be higher. Still, he looked forward to taking up his new duties and exposing the best in his new school to the defragmenter programme. ------- Five years of using the programme on hundreds of students had firmly cemented the idea for Kenny that what he was doing was a good thing. He had even convinced himself that controlling a new girl each year for his own sexual pleasure was a natural thing to do, gave the girl a great deal of pleasure and was almost a reward for all the other good he was doing. The first students he had used the programme on had also now graduated and he was delighted with the range of jobs his highly qualified protégé were finding. The only blot on the landscape for Kenny was the amount of money he picked up as a head teacher. ------- It was perhaps a measure of how far he had been seduced by the power his programme gave him that Kenny's imagination and his own keen brain began to explore the possibility of a grander scheme than the one he was already running. As more and more of his former students made e-mail contact and shared details of the jobs - and high salaries - they were finding for themselves, Kenny's unhappiness with his own salary began to grate on him. It was while absently watching a documentary on TV that his plans began to crystallise. The documentary showed an interview with the American actor, Tom Cruise and dealt with the Church of Scientology. The similarity in the name to his own trigger phrase was what drew his attention at first, but as he became more focussed on what the documentary claimed was going on, he started to formulate an idea of his own. What if he instructed all of his former students to join a real Church of Cyberscience and had them donate a percentage of their earnings to it? Kenny argued with himself that a good part of the success of these people was actually down to him and his programme, so wasn't he due a share in their good fortune? Even a modest annual donation from each of them would soon add up to a tidy sum. He reasoned that his people would only increase their earnings as they gained experience, promotion or started their own businesses so income would undoubtedly grow. Another idea also popped into his head on how to spread the sphere of influence he had. So far he had taught at three different schools and uploaded his programme into the brains of hundreds of students. As a head teacher he had involved in a number of national projects with the civil servants from the Scottish Government. As part of that, Kenny suggested setting up a summer school for the brightest students from across all of Scotland. That would of course give him the opportunity of uploading his programme to the cream of Scotland's youth and would supply a rich supply of candidates for membership of his Church of Cyberscience. ------- Chapter 3 Mark MacGhee sat in the Prince of Wales pub, sipping a pint of lager. At twenty-nine, he considered himself young, free and single and worked hard to keep life that way. His 5'11" frame was lean and well muscled from the full-on workouts at the gym and daily running. Mark had the kind of shortish, fine sandy hair that never seemed to be totally under control - a bit like Robert Redford's. He also had brown eyes, the kind of eyes that seemed to melt women's hearts and he used all of his charms to ensure his bed was rarely empty or cold. Today wasn't a day for flirting and trying to pick up a new bedmate however, today Mark was working. He was an investigative journalist and worked freelance - refusing to be tied down to one company or to be the subject of editorial control. He had broken enough major stories to build a sound reputation and that allowed him to pick and choose what he worked on. Mark was waiting for one of his better sources of information. He had received a phone call telling him to be at the Prince of Wales at 3pm and he made a point of always responding to this particular caller. His head lifted as the pub's door opened and he recognised the man walking in. He got to his feet and walked over to the bar. "Two pints of lager please?" he ordered. "How are you, Mark?" asked the newcomer. "I'm doing away fine, Drew, doing away fine. How's life with Strathclyde's finest?" Mark asked in return. "You know how it is, never a dull moment in Glasgow for a copper." They picked up the pints and headed for the table Mark had already bagged. Mark smiled as he watched his source carefully scrutinise every person in the bar until he was satisfied there were no problems. Detective Inspector Drew MacIntosh relaxed into his seat and took a long pull on his pint. "So, Drew, to what do I owe the honour?" Mark asked. "I thought about this one long and hard," said Drew, "you didn't get me anything on the vigilante so I wasn't sure about giving you this, but you have done good work in the past." Mark grimaced. Drew had fed him information about a dangerous Glasgow vigilante in the hope that, as a journalist, he would be able to find some new leads to the man's identity. Instead, Mark found himself banging his head against a brick wall for six months, turning up precisely nothing. It still rankled that he had worked so hard to find a break and had ended up with no story and therefore had gone six months without earning a penny. "Well, that one kind of dropped into your lap, didn't it?" he replied now. Mark's comment referred to the fact that the vigilante had been killed in a shoot out with the head of one of Glasgow's gangs, Rab 'the tram' Cullen. In death, the vigilante had been revealed as another of the gang leaders - Sean O'Reilly. By killing each other, these two gang leaders had helped Drew tie up multiple murder cases - much to the pleasure of his Chief Police officer. "Aye, I guess it did at that," said Drew. "Anyway, enough about history. What have you got for me?" Mark asked. "They're connected in a way. With Cullen and O'Reilly both gone there's been something of a vacuum in terms of leadership across large patches of Glasgow. A little bird has been telling me that there are some very bright up and coming youngsters who are trying to muscle in and pick up the remnants of the gangs," Drew told him. "Where's the news in that?" Mark asked. "Don't write this off too quickly. From what my sources are telling me, these are no ordinary hoodlums we're talking about. Some of them are from out of town for one thing and they're all very young for another," Drew now added. "Yeh, but a thug is a thug. There's no angle for me in that," Mark dismissed. "Look, my sources are telling me that these guys are much smarter than your average villain. The reason I'm coming to you is that my normal approaches aren't giving me much to go on. They seem to have ghosted in and taken over without any trouble. That smacks of either overwhelming force or unusually effective thinking - maybe both. The fact that there's not a lot of information about them suggests that they are something out of the ordinary," Drew emphasised. "You mean they haven't had to break any legs and they're not going about boasting about how tough they are?" Mark asked. "Exactly! In all my time on the force I've never come across anything like this before. Everything has been done quietly, yet I know the Cullen and O'Reilly operations are already back in full swing - drugs, racketeering, prostitution you name it." Mark felt his interest quicken. If what MacIntosh was telling him was true then this really was unusual and there might be a story in it after all. Glasgow's gangs were notoriously big-mouthed, full of bravado and macho boasting about their exploits. It was unheard of for villains to go about their business so quietly. "Okay, what can you tell me?" Mark asked, leaning forward now in anticipation. "That's all I've got," Drew replied. Mark sat back, stunned. If MacIntosh was telling the truth, if he really didn't have any other information, then this new crew really were something different. "Nothing? Come off it, you must have something I can go on!" Mark demanded. "I'm telling you, these guys are smart. I've had to work really hard to get what I've just told you. Everything's been kept really tight, that's why I need your help on this. You can do things and go places I can't. Get out there and find me some leads and I promise that you'll have exclusive access so you can write the story." This was the same deal that the pair had agreed on past cases and Mark knew it was the best he was going to get. Sure he could do the investigation and probably come up with a story, but having the inside track on any police work was the icing on the cake - it always made the final story that much juicier. "Okay, I'm on it. Give me a couple of weeks to see what I can dig up," said Mark. He took one final swig from his pint and then stood and left the pub. ------- Kenny searched online for details of what he would have to do to found and incorporate the Church of Cyberscience. The range of advice, rules and regulations was confusing and he almost dropped the idea altogether. Then he realised he didn't need to do the work himself. He already had former students who were qualified as lawyers and accountants so it was a simple matter to e-mail several of them to research what was required and he quickly had things underway. The advice he got back also suggested that he apply for charitable status for the Church so it would be exempt from taxation. The registered address for the new Church was actually a post office box number, but Kenny had plans to change that as quickly as possible. Once he had money flowing in from his 'congregation' he would be able to purchase a real base of operations. Kenny had also made a start at raising his first donations. He had created a database of all of those former students who were now contacting him each year. The database included names, contact addresses and details of the individual's occupation. It was a simple matter to send an e-mail containing the trigger phrase to each person, instructing them to make a payment to the bank account number that Kenny supplied. The database already had over seven hundred names in it, one hundred and fifty of them people who were now in employment. Kenny's demands on them were relatively light, no more than a normal person would donate to a charity of their choice every month. He instructed each individual to begin to pay twenty pounds from each paycheck to the Church and already he was receiving more than three thousand pounds every month! Using the students to help set up the Church gave Kenny the idea of looking more closely at the occupations of those on his database. Besides lawyers and accountants, he realised he had access to a broad base of experts that would undoubtedly prove useful in the future. Establishing the database had brought one issue into sharp relief that Kenny had missed up until that point. He saw a pattern emerging with a group of his former students. A small number of them were indicating they were involved in criminal activities - some in quite a major way from what they had put down in their e-mails. He was at a loss as to how this could have happened until the reality hit him. "Of course! All those troublemakers that I targeted with the programme so they would stop disrupting my classes! Some of them obviously behaved in my classroom but carried on making trouble elsewhere. I guess the brain defragmenter will also have improved their thinking - maybe I've created a new class of super criminal!" he laughed to himself. The more he thought about it however, the more sense it made. If some of his former students had entered a life of crime, they were most certainly going to be far smarter than the average criminal. It was entirely feasible that their improved intelligence would help them avoid arrest and possibly even come up with new ways of making money illegally. It was another sign of just how low Kenny had sunk that his next thoughts weren't about the problems he could have created for society, but rather how much money he could hope to get from these former students. From their messages, it was clear that a number of his people were now running large criminal operations, perhaps generating a lot of money. Kenny dwelt on how much money he could hope to gain. ------- Mark had to work with the little information that MacIntosh had given him. He knew enough about the Glasgow gangs to be able to pinpoint the turf that had previously been controlled by Cullen and O'Reilly and that was where he began. He started on the South side of the River Clyde, Cullen's old stomping grounds. His reasoning for choosing that area first was that he remembered Cullen's moneyman, Fraser Gilchrist had also been killed. A gang without a leader and a moneyman might well be ripe for a take-over. Mark staked out a number of known Cullen clan bases and recognised many of the faces that were coming and going. He enlisted the help of one of his off and on girlfriends, Felicity Cartwright, or Flick, who had worked with him before as a photographer. Together, Mark and Flick mounted various stake outs over the next three months, constantly taking pictures and nosing around for any information on the newcomers that MacIntosh believed had taken over the turf. "You know, I just don't understand how someone can lead the kind of life that puts them in a position to become the leader of a criminal gang and yet they themselves have got no criminal record," said Flick. She was referring to the fact that DI MacIntosh had been unable to put names to any of the strangers they had captured on camera. Mark and Flick assumed that these were the faces of the people who had assumed control of the Cullen clan and the O'Reilly gang, but they were no further forward in identifying who they were. "MacIntosh believes these guys are a lot smarter than your average gang member. I guess they would have to be real smart to have avoided getting into trouble before now," Mark answered her. "But how can you build up a big enough reputation to have any credibility or status with the kind of hard men that make up these gangs? What could you do to earn the kind of respect that would allow you to take over as their leader, but wouldn't bring you to the attention of the police?" she asked. "Good questions, now if only we knew the answers to them," Mark replied. Mark had turned his mobile onto silent mode during their stakeout and he felt it vibrate in his pocket. He fished the phone out of his pocket and answered the call. Flick heard only his side of the conversation. "Hello? "Oh, hi. "No, I'm out trying to catch criminals for you, ya lazy bastard. "Well, great minds think alike. "No, it's just a bit of a coincidence, I was just asking that question. "Really. "What were the circumstances? "Doesn't sound that uncommon, why are you suspicious? "But how can you be sure? "Yeah, you're right, that would probably do it. "No, I'll be careful. Thanks for the heads up." "Who was that?" Flick asked, when the call ended. "MacIntosh. Our friendly copper seems to have been thinking along the same lines as you have. He's been digging through cases going back over the past six months and he thinks he's found something," Mark replied. "What? Come on Mark, what has he found?" Flick demanded. "He's come up with three dead gang members. Two accidental deaths and one apparent suicide," Mark answered. "Isn't it a bit unusual for a gang member to kill himself? I mean, I've heard plenty of stories about them killing each other, but none about suicide. Seems a bit far fetched to me," Flick said. "Exactly. That's what MacIntosh said. He's asked the coroner to take a closer look at all three deaths, but he suspects our new boys might have offed these characters as a way of establishing their credentials with the other gang members." "How did they die?" asked Flick. "The suicide was drowning, the body was fished out of the River Clyde. One of the 'accidents' involved a man falling from a rooftop and the other seems to have been a drugs overdose," Mark responded. "Not much to go on there. Isn't MacIntosh clutching at straws a wee bit?" Flick asked. "Maybe. But if these new guys were behind them it would certainly grab people's attention, especially as they have gone down as a suicide and two accidents. It would take a bit of brains to be able to set something like that up and get away with it," Mark said. "But they would need to let the other gang members know they were behind the deaths for them to do any good. Surely that would have resulted in something leaking out, it always does?" Flick challenged. "I agree, but if these guys are as smart as MacIntosh thinks, then maybe they've found a way to keep mouths shut," Mark replied, "anyway, we need to keep in mind that if we're caught watching them, they might not think twice about removing us permanently too." Flick shuddered at the thought. ------- Felicity put the finishing touches to the folder she had made up. It contained the photographs of the various characters she and Mark had so far been unable to identify. In some of the pics they had been shot in the company of known gang members and she had annotated the names of the villains along with the dates and places the pics had been taken. Mark had phoned to say that he had decided to move onto another potential story - three months of fruitless snooping around the Glasgow gangs with no story to sell had once again left him frustrated. Flick planned to hand over her folder in return for the payment he had promised her at the start of the job. She couldn't say she was disappointed Mark had decided to move on, this job had been hours of endless boredom. The time she got to spend with Mark was of course a little bonus, but the stakeouts wouldn't be missed at all. ------- Going over the resources he could control couldn't help but get Kenny excited. He had people in all of the big Scottish financial institutions; people in the legal establishment and inevitably, some of his people had ended up in politics. The number of his former students now in employment had more than doubled to over three hundred and his regular monthly income from donations was close to seven thousand pounds from them alone. Kenny's problem was that the cash flow wasn't enough. It had been nearly two years since he had started his 'donations' scheme and over that time he had received just over £120,000 over the two years and the bank account of the Church of Cyberscience was looking reasonably healthy. For Kenny it still wasn't enough though. Questioning the criminal students by e-mail had given him his first real shock. He e-mailed two brothers who claimed to be controlling part of Glasgow and instructed them to contact him on another one-time only use mobile phone. Roddy and Duncan Hamilton made contact within two hours of Kenny sending the message. Once again he started the call by carefully repeating the trigger phrase to be safe before questioning the pair about their activities. The Hamilton's confirmed that they had actually murdered several gang members as part of their take-over of the gangs. The thought that he controlled people who had actually taken the lives of others should have been a sobering thought, but Kenny recovered quickly from the shock and stored the information away for future use. Kenny squeezed the brothers harder than the others, instructing them to make four large donations to the Church from their gang's activities. Those donations totalled just over £100,000, but even that wasn't enough for Kenny. From his conversations with the brothers, he had gained a fair idea of just how high the turnover was from their illegal activities. Kenny was aware of the drug selling, the prostitution and the loan-sharking. The men he controlled informed him about protection schemes and how much they generated. They told him about the sale of smuggled alcohol and tobacco, sales that avoided all of the government's taxes. He knew about the thriving trade in counterfeit CDs and DVDs. In total, the turnover from the gangs' activities ran to many millions each year and those kind of figures were too much for Kenny to put out of his mind. "The stupid thing is that these guys have all this cash just lying around because they don't know how to launder it. Millions! Millions of pounds lying around doing nothing! There must be a way of getting access to that," he told himself. The problem with the illegal money was that there was just too much of it. The gangs hadn't thought of a way of spending the money without it being identified. There was no easy way of moving such large sums of money around legitimately. Kenny thought he had the answer though, a way of laundering the cash so that it would be clean enough to spend. By now he had more than twenty former students under his control who were working as accountants with big financial institutions, some of them already in senior positions. These companies - the big Scottish banks like RBS and HBOS, insurance companies like Standard Life - traded in billions. Kenny believed those he controlled were well placed to process a small number of transactions at each of them, feeding the illegal cash into the companies and then making payments to the Church's account. The accounts at the companies would balance and a small number of transactions amongst millions were unlikely to come to light. There would be nothing suspicious about companies of that size banking large sums of cash and Kenny felt there was little risk involved. He knew he couldn't look to use that method over a long period or the risks would start to grow, so his plan was to launder enough of the illegal money into clean funds so that he could then invest it in legitimate businesses. The next step would be a simple one - he planned to use the clean money to buy out several of the large casinos in Glasgow. His inspiration for that approach had come from across the Atlantic where he knew the American crime syndicates had done something similar but on a much grander scale in Las Vegas. "I've got over a hundred of these former 'trouble-makers' on my database now, most of them at a loose end. If I direct them to the ones that are already controlling the gangs, they could be used to run the casinos. The casinos can take over laundering the dirty money and I remove the risk of the process being discovered in the financial institutions. "The only thing I need to worry about is the name of the Church being associated with the purchase of the casinos. That's bound to raise questions. Still, the Church can't be traced back to me, I've made sure of that." he told himself. Kenny had indeed made sure his name was completely unconnected with the Church of Cyberscience. He had controlled others to incorporate the Church and it was all former students who were officers and registered signatories for the bank accounts. Having complete control over the people involved meant there was no risk to him in any of it. ------- Kenny's money laundering scheme ran smoothly enough. There were a lot of logistics for him to manage - controlling and moving so many people around at once called for careful planning and attention to detail in his communications. Over a period of three months he oversaw the transfer of five million pounds into the Church's account and then had some of the legal people he controlled manage the purchase of two of Glasgow's casinos. Roddy and Duncan found themselves with a steady stream of very bright young people seeking employment in the casinos, all directed to them by Kenny. As a final safeguard, Kenny ordered all of those he used to delete any trace of the messages he had sent. So far he hadn't used any of the Church's funds for his own benefit, but that was also about to change. His legal people were ordered to purchase the Cambo House Estate in Fife for the Church and Kenny sold his own apartment and moved in. The estate was huge, with over 1200 acres of land and a house that dated back to the 1881. There were countless rooms, self-contained apartments and facilities such as golf, tennis courts as well as a huge indoor games room. The estate even had its own beach and Kenny immediately had some of his other people arrange for an indoor pool and sauna to be fitted. "It's about time I got to live the life I'm due!" he told himself. ------- "Hello?" mumbled mark into the phone. He managed to open one eye to glance at the bedside clock and saw that it was after 10am. He'd had a late night and didn't appreciate what he considered an early morning call. "Hello yourself sleepyhead," said Flick. "Um, Flick, do you know what time it is?" he asked sleepily. "Mark! It's after 10, you should be up by now," she laughed at his discomfort. "Whatever. It's early, what can I do for you pretty lady?" he asked. "My god, even half asleep you still try to turn on the bloody charm! Give it a rest Romeo. Look I've got two names for you. You remember all those boring days staking out the Glasgow gangs?" she asked. "How could I forget?" Mark replied. "My latest flame took me to the re-launch of a casino in the City last night and I was introduced to the new owners - Roddy and Duncan Hamilton - and guess what?" she teased. "Okay, I'll bite. What?" he played along. "I recognised them both. They were two of the faces we couldn't find names for, two of the men we watched on our stake outs," she replied. "Okay, but that's still not much to go on," Mark responded. "I also recognise a Dundee accent when I hear one," Flick added in triumph. ------- Chapter 4 Mark had the album out ready and waiting before Flick rang the bell of his apartment. He wondered about the two of them, on/off lovers for more than three years now. Neither of them seemed able to make that final commitment, to become an exclusive item. He knew there was something special about her, otherwise, why did he keep going back? He didn't do that with any of the many other women he hooked up with. Mark opened the door and managed a tired smile at the vivacious brunette. "You got here fast. How many speed limits did you break?" he asked. "You know me. I don't drive fast, it's more like I fly low," Flick joked. She spotted the picture album sitting on the table and took a seat on the sofa to begin going through it. "Tea, coffee or juice?" Mark asked. "Nothing for me, baby. I haven't got long, there's a shoot up in St Andrew's that I need to be at this afternoon," she replied. Mark made himself a cup of coffee and then re-joined Flick in the sitting room. He watched her concentration as she flicked through the pages of the album she had made for him after their months of stake outs. It wasn't long before she gave a little cry of triumph. "This one! This is Duncan Hamilton," she said. Mark looked at the pic she was pointing to. There was nothing remarkable about the face that was in half profile. Short brown hair and plain features gave the young man a nondescript appearance. "Here's a better one," Flick said, pointing to a second pic of Duncan Hamilton. "And here's his brother too." Mark looked at another two pics and immediately saw the family resemblance between the two Hamilton brothers. These pics were face on and Mark knew he would recognise the two men now if he saw them again. He leaned over and carefully extracted the pics from the album. "Thank you gorgeous, I guess all I need to do now is find out a little bit more about them. I think a little call to DI MacIntosh might be in order," he said. "Okay, let me know how you get on. I really do need to dash," Flick said. "Are you sure I can't tempt you to stay for a little exercise?" Mark leered. Flick paused and he could see she was giving his suggestion serious consideration. "No, sorry, I'll need to take a rain check. This shoot is really important, it's for one of the biggest selling sports magazines and I've got my mortgage to pay," she replied eventually. "Sell your flat and move in here with me," Mark suggested impulsively. There was another pause as both of them were surprised by his comment. Mark didn't know where the suggestion had come from, but having made it he found he quite liked the idea. Flick's left eyebrow raised as she stared at him. Mark had never given any suggestion about the possibility of a serious relationship before now and his offer caught her completely on the hop. If the truth were told, she would have moved in with him several years before if he had asked her. Flick's hesitation and her on/off relationship with Mark were all down to a belief that he would never be serious about a girl. She realised she would need to think about this startling development. Was he really asking her to move in or had it just been an off the cuff remark, a throw away line? "That's a pretty tempting offer, baby and I'm really going to have to think about it for a while. Somehow I just can't see you getting into the whole commitment thing that easily, you know? We do 'exercise' pretty well together and it's tempting, but I really do need to get moving." Flick stood and gave Mark a quick peck on the lips before sweeping out of the apartment. Mark stood rooted to the spot for a few minutes after she had left. He had really asked Flick to move in with him? She hadn't said no either, but her comment about his lack of commitment was a killer. Mark knew only too well how women became frustrated with him for that exact 'character flaw' as they saw it. He realised that he found the idea of having Flick around very appealing indeed. His offer had come out of nowhere and he had to admit to himself that his subconscious seemed able to read his feelings for her only too well, making him blurt out the invitation without thinking. His bachelor lifestyle had certainly been fun over the years, but what did he have to show for it? What legacy was he leaving behind in the world? If he died today, who would mourn his passing? When all was said and done, he was basically a sad, lonely figure with little love in his life. The fun was all illusory, short-term stuff, and certainly not shared in any meaningful way. Try as he might it was difficult to even remember some of the women he had bedded or to conjure up any kind of meaningful memories of his time spent with them. Flick was different. Mark knew they connected on many different levels and what few good memories he was able to bring to mind were all ones of time spent with Flick. What if she was willing to move in with him? Would it work? Could he see them together in five, ten, twenty years time? Mark realised he had a smile on his face at that question - the idea of being with Flick really did make him happy. A picture of both of them together and young children playing around them sprang into his head. "Whooah! Let's not take this too far!" he cautioned himself. "Asking her to move in is one thing, but kids? I'll end up frightening the poor girl to death!" He decided that he really would need to try and persuade Flick to give living with him a try at least, but perhaps he would keep any talk of children out of his offer. Mark shook himself and lifted the phone to call DI MacIntosh, a stupid grin still plastered all over his face. ------- Drew looked closely at the two photographs the journalist had given him. If it wasn't for the fact that he recognised several of the other characters in the pics, he wouldn't have believed that Roddy and Duncan Hamilton had anything to do with the resurgence of the Cullen and O'Reilly gangs. His initial enquiries had turned up squat! His colleagues in Dundee had taken a few days but eventually were able to provide Drew with a little more information on the two brothers. They were from the Camperdown area of Dundee, not far from the city's two football ground - Tannadice Park and Dens Park. They had attended Glebe High School for the pre-requisite four years and then left, subsequently having a number of years employed in various supermarkets. The Dundee detectives carried out some light touch investigation as a courtesy to Drew and were able to confirm that the Hamilton brothers hadn't been involved in any crime as far as they could tell. Having spoken to friends of the brothers, they were able to verify that Roddy and Duncan had moved South to Glasgow seeking better work. "Well I did say that these guys were smarter than the average criminal, but they look so squeaky clean it's hard to imagine they could be running two of Glasgow's hardest gangs," Drew thought to himself, still staring at the photographs of the brothers. "What happened to turn these two Dundee nothings into two big time Charlies here in Glasgow? How do you flit from being a supermarket worker with no history of crime to running an organisation that's behind drugs, prostitution and god knows what else?" MacIntosh glanced at the clock on the wall of his office and roused himself. He grabbed his raincoat from the peg on the back of the door and made his way through Stewart Street station to find his car. He had arranged to meet Mark MacGhee at 3:30pm and if he didn't hurry he was going to be late. ------- Mark sat in the restaurant that was part of the service for visitors to the Burrell art collection. The huge art collection had been bequeathed to the city of Glasgow in the 1940s by Sir William Burrell, a very wealthy industrialist who had collected art from all around the world. The collection contained an important assortment of medieval art including stained glass and tapestries, oak furniture, medieval weapons and armour, Islamic art, and artefacts from ancient Egypt and China. There was also impressionism, work by Degas and Cezanne, modern sculpture and countless other pieces - an amazing array of objects and all collected by one man. Unfortunately, the art was somewhat lost on Mark. He sipped a cup of coffee and looked out through the restaurant's glazed front onto the lawns in the courtyard of the Burrell museum building. His thoughts were very much on Flick, a habit he had been falling into more and more over the past few days. There had been no opportunity to see her since she had been at the apartment and he found himself coming up with excuses that would give him a reason to phone her. It didn't occur to him that merely phoning to ask her out would have been reason enough - old habits die hard it seems. None of his ideas sounded all that plausible and he had therefore put off making a call. Now he hoped his meeting with DI MacIntosh might give him information to start back on the trail of the mysterious men behind the Glasgow gangs - that was guaranteed to bring Flick back into his life. Mark saw MacIntosh weaving his way through the tables to join him. The detectives face gave no hint of whether he had good news or bad news, perhaps a legacy of his day to day work where he would give nothing away to his adversaries. "Good to see you, Mark," MacIntosh said as he took a seat. A waitress bustled over and Drew ordered coffee and a Danish. The two men exchanged small talk until the order was delivered and they had privacy. "So, what have you found? Have I given you the vital clue you need to open this up?" Mark asked eagerly. "What you've given me is more of a headache than a cure to be honest," Drew replied "I can see from your pictures that the Hamilton brothers are associating with known gang members here in Glasgow, but they have no form whatsoever." "I thought that was the point you were making to me months ago?" Mark queried. "I know, I know. But this is like nothing I've ever seen before. These two have got no known links to any criminals or any criminal activity at all. I can't figure out how two young men, barely twenty years of age, have gone from stacking shelves in a supermarket to being 'Mr Big'." "Have you tried the Dundee end to see if there's anything of interest in their background?" Mark asked. Drew gave him a withering look that made it clear the question was both stupid and insulting. "Of course I did! What do you take me for, a rank amateur? The Dundee police gave them a clean bill of health on all counts. Not even anything juvenile, nothing," Drew answered. "Maybe you haven't gone back far enough?" Mark suggested. Drew gave him another dirty look, but then considered Mark's question a little more. "If we go back any farther it would mean going into their school records. I really don't have time for that, there are plenty of other cases to look at in Glasgow you know. No, I'm convinced there's nothing in their past - it's their future that will give me what I need to collar them. I'll let them play their little games. Sooner or later they'll make a mistake, they always do. Now I know who they are, their cards are marked," Drew sighed. Mark realised he was extremely disappointed. He had hoped that MacIntosh would give him something more to go on, something he could get his teeth into and something that would justify calling on Flick. The detective's apparent lack of enthusiasm for taking things any further drained his own excitement away. MacIntosh was a busy man and he didn't hang around the museum long. Mark hunched over this coffee, trying to think of something that would cheer him up. He knew that modern day journalists were held in contempt by many. They were seen as lazy and sensationalist, often merely visiting a company's website to read their press releases and reporting almost word for word what they read. He saw himself as very different to that. He was an investigative journalist and he took the 'investigative' part of that very seriously indeed. It was that, his belief in the value of his skills, of his trade, that sparked a lift in his mood. "What if MacIntosh is wrong? What if there is something in their past that he's missing? And why the sudden shift into legitimate business? Where do the casinos fit in and where did the money come from to buy them? Sure, there'll be plenty of dirty money sloshing around in the gangs, but how would they launder enough of it to buy two casinos? "I need to get off my arse and do some work, that's what I need to do. Instead of walking around with my head in the clouds thinking about Flick, I should be out there looking for leads." With that thought, Mark finished the dregs of his coffee and made his way out of the tea-room. ------- DI MacIntosh had given Mark the name of the school that the two Hamilton brothers had attended - Glebe High School - and he used his journalist credentials to get the head teacher to take his phone call. "Look, Mr Stevenson is it? I'm doing a story about the underworld in Glasgow and I've come across a couple of characters that I believe attended your school a number of years ago," he said into the phone. "Well, I'm sorry but that's not the kind of thing that the school would comment on or get itself involved in. We have to be seen to be above all of that, we have our place in the community and the trust of our parents and pupils to consider" Stevenson replied on the other end of the line. "Mr Stevenson, I'm only talking about half an hour of your time. Nothing you tell me would be attributable to the school, I can promise you that. Don't you think you have a responsibility to society as a whole to cooperate in bringing criminals to justice? You might have vital information that could help shut down a number of gangs, gangs that are behind drugs, prostitution and major acts of violence," Mark urged. "No, I'm sorry Mr MacGhee, there really is nothing I can do to help you. Now I have to go, I have meetings to attend. Goodbye." Mark heard Stevenson hang up and he cursed. "What is it with people who work in the public service? They seem to take great pleasure in being as unhelpful as possible! Doesn't that bastard feel he has a duty to protect the children and young people at his school? "Well there's more than one way to skin a cat as they say! I'll just have to come at this from another angle." ------- Flick sat and looked out of the window of her apartment. The rolling Campsie Hills to the North of Glasgow looked beautiful in the afternoon sunshine but her face didn't have a sunny expression on it. She had painlessly ended her relationship with her latest boyfriend and had fully expected a call from Mark. His suggestion that she move in with him had taken her by surprise but she couldn't get it out of her head. She had managed to concentrate for the four hour photo shoot at St Andrews, the work helping to focus her mind. Afterwards however, the offer and the image of Mark's smiling face kept invading her thoughts, each time bringing a smile to her own face. Two weeks after the offer and here she was sitting alone at home waiting for a call that looked as if it wasn't ever going to come. Flick felt depressed. All of the excitement that she had allowed to build up, the anticipation of getting back together with Mark, had slumped as each day passed without him contacting her. She had been on the verge of ringing him herself a number of times, but she had chickened out. "Why did I let myself think that he'd grown up at last? Men never grow up, they continue to act like kids even when they're old and grey. Spoilt, petulant kids! I've wasted the past two weeks moping about the house waiting for the idiot to call, I'm such a fool! He obviously didn't mean it when he asked me to move in with him, it was just another of his childish jokes. "To think that I'd actually convinced myself to give it a try! You stupid, stupid woman! You've allowed your heart to overrule your head once too often where Mark is concerned and look where it's got you. More pain, more loneliness, more sorrow. Oh fuck, it's just so cruel. I really think we would have been good together, I know I love him. Deep down inside me, I love him. I need to put it behind me again and get on with my life. It's not the first time he's had me feeling like this, but I swear it's the last!" She jumped slightly as the phone beside her rang. Flick snatched it up and held the handset to her ear. "Hi there, beautiful, are you busy?" "Mark? Is that you?" she asked hesitantly. Despite what had run through her head only seconds before, Flick felt her heart beating faster in her chest at the sound of his voice and the black look on her face lifted, a goofy grin taking its place. "Of course it's me. I'm sitting looking out the window of my car at the stunning view across the Firth of Tay," Mark said. "Two weeks hanging round this bloody apartment waiting for a call and all I get is 'are you busy'," Flick now added, her anger at him resurfacing. "Well, I'm on the trail of the Hamilton brothers and I thought you might like to help me." "Two bloody weeks without a call, two bloody weeks Mark!" "Come on baby, can you help me out here?" Mark wheedled. "So you need my help?" Flick asked, her tone softening. "Look, I think we might be onto something this time. I'll fill you in when you get here. Now hurry baby!" "Where exactly are you?" she asked. "I'm parked in a lay-by on the A92 overlooking Dundee from the Fife side," Mark replied. "I'm leaving now, I should be with you in just over an hour," Flick replied. She dropped the phone into its cradle and dashed for the door of her apartment, snatching up her car keys on the way out of the door. All of her doubts about Mark and her depression magically disappeared like snow off of a dyke. ------- The work on the rambling old house was just about complete and Kenny took a wander through the rooms to survey his new home. He certainly had come up in the world - from a two room apartment to the Cambo Estate and manor house. He smiled the smile of a satisfied man. The swimming pool was done and it was now filled with chlorinated water. It looked tempting. Kenny decided he just had to try it out and he went to find a pair of swimming shorts. As he entered the room he had chosen to sleep in, a small form wriggled under the sheet on the bed. This was another of Kenny's 'conquests' - Leona, a sixteen-year old girl from his current school he had been seeing off and on for two years now. Use of the Cyberscience programme had her completely besotted with him and eager to please. "Leona honey, I'm going for a swim, a sauna and then a dip in the plunge pool - all in that order. Care to join me?" he asked. "What time is it?" she groaned. "It's already after nine, come on, get up you lazy girl!" "Mr MacGovern, I'm tired and sore. You plum wore me out last night!" Leona replied. "You weren't complaining at the time I seem to recall," Kenny replied, "come on, a little bit of exercise and then a sauna will make you feel a lot better." "But I don't have a suit here," said Leona. "Well, we'll just have to do without then won't we?" Kenny asked with a leer. Leona giggled at the suggestion and decided it might be fun to swim naked. She swung her legs out of the bed and stood up, displaying her youthful figure and good looks for Kenny to drink in. She was pleased with the reaction she got and shuffled over to him, raising her arms and pulling him to her for a sultry kiss. "You know, you look absolutely stunning. I just can't get enough of you," Kenny whispered into her hair as he nuzzled her. His mobile phone started to vibrate on the nearby dresser and he considered ignoring it. Leona deserved all of his attention, or at least her youthful body did. Leona dropped her arms from his neck and swept the phone up, handing it to him. "You'd better answer that and get rid of whoever's calling. I need to visit the loo and then we can swim together," she said, heading for the en suite bathroom. He thumbed the button to connect the caller and answered the phone. "Hello?" "Is that Kenny MacGovern? It's Jim Stevenson here, I hope you remember me. You know, the head at Glebe High School? I'm sorry to bother you but you did tell me to let you know if anything out of the ordinary came up with regards to any of your former students." Kenny felt a shiver run down his spine when he heard the words. "What's happened?" he asked. "I've had a call from a man claiming to be a journalist. He said he was investigating the Glasgow criminal underworld and wanted to talk to me about two former pupils - Roddy and Duncan Hamilton," replied Stevenson. Alarm bells started ringing in Kenny's head. "What did you say his name was?" he asked. "I didn't, but I've got it written down here somewhere- ah, here it is. Mark MacGhee he said his name was. He wanted to meet with me but I told him the school never discusses matters to do with its former pupils. I hope I've done the right thing?" Stevenson asked nervously. "That's fine, Jim. You handled it just right. Thanks for letting me know, I'm sure it's nothing. Let me take it from here," Kenny said, as he disconnected the call. He found his hands were shaking slightly. This was the second call he had received about the Hamilton brothers. A number of his programmed former pupils had joined the police force and one of them had called four days before to alert him to the fact that the Glasgow police were making enquiries about the Hamiltons. Kenny knew the Hamiltons were a weak link. The brothers were connected to the casinos and the casinos were connected to the Church of Cyberscience. The Church was in turn connected to the estate he was now living at. He knew his name wasn't on anything that either the police or a journalist could turn up, but nonetheless this was a disturbing turn of events. Kenny knew he would need to do something. All thoughts about 'skinny-dipping' with Leona fled and he made his way to his computer. It was a simple matter to google 'Mark MacGhee' and 'journalist' and he checked the box for UK hits only. The search returns identified MacGhee as a freelance journalist and Kenny took in the details of the major stories the man had been responsible for. There were several pictures of the journalist and he saved them into a folder before clearing the search results and calling up his database of former pupils. He found the contact details he was looking for and dialed Roddy Hamilton's number. The call was answered quickly. "Have you heard about the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you," he began. There was silence on the other end of the line and Kenny could actually picture the glazed look that must be on Hamilton's face. "Listen carefully, there's a freelance journalist sniffing round asking about you and your brother. I think he's also had the police looking into your background. His name is Mark MacGhee, you can get a picture of him if you google his name on-line. "I think Mr MacGhee needs to be discouraged in some way, discouraged in a permanent sense if you get my meaning? "Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended." Kenny ended the call, confident that Roddy would take the action he had ordered. He had been careful to keep the call short and not to identify himself in any way. MacGovern well knew just how insecure mobile phone calls were. He didn't dwell on the fact that he had taken his activities to a whole new level by having virtually ordered another man's death. ------- Chapter 5 Mark was still sitting in the lay-by an hour and a half later when he saw Flick's car pull in behind him. He opened the driver's door to greet her and found himself knocked backwards against his car as Flick launched herself at him with a squeal of pleasure. He felt her arms hugging him fiercely and her lips were planting wild kisses all over his face. Mark returned the hug and accepted the unbridled expression of her feelings for him. "I'm really pleased to see you too, baby," he managed to get out at last. "Are we going to stay in this lay-by all day or do we need to talk about what we're doing and where we're going? "Let's go somewhere and get a bite to eat and talk about what we're going to do," Mark suggested. Flick reluctantly released her hold on him and stepped back, her face still a picture of happiness. "Okay. Where to?" she asked. "Just follow me. There's a nice little Italian restaurant I know not far from Discovery Quay and there's plenty of parking around there." He laughed again at the speed with which Flick returned to her car, clearly now anxious to reach their destination and return to his side. Mark climbed into his own vehicle and pulled the car back out onto the A92 road, heading for the Tay bridge and the city of Dundee. ------- If someone were to ask Roddy Hamilton why he was interested in the journalist Mark MacGhee he wouldn't have been able to answer them. Somehow he knew the man was sniffing around him and his brother though and a voice in his head directed him to search for details of the journalist on-line. His google search returned a good number of hits and he was soon looking at a picture of Mark MacGhee. It was a simple matter to right click his mouse over the picture and start it printing out. Roddy picked up the page and wandered through the house looking for his brother. Duncan was the sneakier of two and finding out about the journalist was a tailor-made job for him. He found Duncan playing pool with some of the other clan members. "We need to have a word," Roddy said. His brother simply nodded and put his cue back in the rack. Roddy retreated from the poolroom and Duncan followed. They both made their way through to a room they had made into their study and Roddy closed the door behind them. He put the printed picture of MacGhee down on the desk in front of Duncan. "This man has been asking questions about both of us," he began. "Who is he and why does he have a hard-on for us?" Duncan asked. "He's a journalist by the name of Mark MacGhee and I think he believes we're the makings of his next big story," Roddy replied. "What do we do about it?" his brother asked. "For now I think we need to find out what he's up to, what he knows, before we decide how to handle him. Why don't you take some muscle and try and find out what you can?" Roddy suggested. Duncan nodded and picked up the picture. He folded it carefully and put it in his pocket. "How do I find him?" he asked. "According to the Internet he's based in Glasgow. Two of the pictures I found of him showed him coming out of the same bistro - the Zinc bar and grill. There were also quite a few pics of him coming out of various Glasgow nightclubs - all of them with different women. It looks like this guy is something of a ladies man and he likes the nightlife. That might be a place to start," Roddy answered. ------- Duncan Hamilton didn't waste any time in trying to find Mark MacGhee. He reduced and copied the picture of MacGhee and had some of the gang members distribute his face throughout their people on Glasgow's streets. He himself checked the Internet again and took careful note of those newspapers that MacGhee had freelanced for in the past. There were two main ones, both quality newspapers - the Herald and the Scotsman. Duncan used his own higher than average intelligence to try to exploit that information. He phoned both newspapers on the pretext of being a fellow journalist who was trying to get in contact with MacGhee but had lost his contact details. "Hello, can I speak to the features editor please?" he asked. "Can I tell him who is calling, sir?" the woman who answered asked. "My name is Billy Richards, I write for the Express," Duncan lied easily. "And what is your call about, sir," he was asked. "To be honest, it's a little embarrassing. I've been collaborating with a freelance journalist but I've lost his contact details. He mentioned that he's done work for the Herald before and I was hoping your editor could help me get in contact with him." "Who is the freelance?" "Mark MacGhee," Duncan said. "Yes, he has done work for us in the past. Give me a second and I'll look on the editor's contacts database for you, no need to bother him he is quite busy." Duncan almost held his breath as he waited, pen poised to jot down any information the woman gave him. "Here it is. His address is 113A Wardlaw Garden Heights. I only have a mobile number listed for him but here it is," the woman said. Duncan scribbled furiously to note the details of the address and phone number and then thanked the faceless voice who had just helped him zero in on his goal. A quick search on-line using 'Mapquest' easily identified where MacGhee's apartment was and within the hour Duncan had it staked out by a couple of clan members. ------- Mark pulled into the car park just off Dundee's Greenmarket and watched Flick pull in behind him. They both locked their cars and Flick quickly put her arm through his as he steered them along South Marketgait, Dock Street and then left into Commercial Street. The restaurant he was looking for was half way up Commercial Street, heading towards Dundee High Street, and was imaginatively called The Italian. A waiter quickly found them a secluded table towards the rear and brought them menus before asking them if they wanted a drink. Flick slid alongside Mark rather than on the opposite side of the table. Mark raised an eyebrow questioningly at Flick and she managed to focus enough to order a glass of Chardonnay. He ordered a glass of his favourite Cabernet Shiraz and they settled to scan the menus and the specials listed on a board on the wall opposite. The specialities of the house were impressive and when the waiter returned with their wine, Mark let Flick order first. "I'll have the Delizia Mare E Monte as a starter and the Agnello In Crosta for the main course please?" she asked. The waiter scribbled her order on his pad and then turned to Mark. "For me it's the Muscoli Alla Marinara to start with and I think I'll have the Gamberoni E Filetto Al Pinzimonio," Mark ordered. Once the waiter had departed they were able to talk once more. Flick had gradually wound down enough to hold an intelligent conversation again, but she was still giving off a happy glow at being with Mark again. "Okay, do you want to tell me what's got you so excited about the Hamiltons and what we're doing in Dundee?" she asked him. "DI MacIntosh told me that he had looked into the background of the Hamilton brothers but that they were clean. "I asked him if he gone all the way back into their school days and he said he didn't have the time for that and he doubted it would tell us anything anyway. I don't know why, I just had a bit of a hunch so I followed up on it. "The head teacher at the school wouldn't talk to me or give me an interview so I did some work on-line. I began to research the school - Glebe High School - and I stumbled over something that looks pretty odd," he said. "Come on, Mark! Get to the point," Flick urged. "Well, I looked at everything on-line that I could find including the Scottish Qualification Authorities (SQA) statistics on pupils' examination results. "There's nothing out of the ordinary in the school's results for the last five years or so - they're pretty much in line with national averages, if anything a bit below. "When I went back a little bit further however, I found a different story. There's a period where the school's results are quite remarkable, well above national averages by as much as 15-20 percent," Mark said. Flick was so surprised at the extent of the figure that she actually sat back. "Are you sure? I mean, a few percentage points I could believe but 20 percent? That doesn't sound feasible," she said "I'm positive, I double-checked." "But wouldn't somebody have said something about this before now?" Flick asked. "You would think so, but one school amongst thousands maybe just doesn't stand out. Remember, the government changed things a number of years ago so that the media couldn't draw up league tables of school performance. It looks as if no one has picked up on this. In fact, this is probably a story I could sell on its own," Mark said. "But what does it tell us in relation to the Hamiltons?" Flick asked. "I'm not sure. One thing I do know is that this period of when the good examination results happened was also when the Hamiltons attended the school, that's why I went back so far, I knew when they were there. The reason we're in Dundee is to try and find out anything that might explain the results and anything we can about the Hamiltons," Mark added. "What do you want me to do?" "Two things. I've got a contact on the ruling Labour Party local council here in Dundee. I want you to meet him and charm some information out of him. Then I want you to check the SQA results more widely and see if there are any other significant aberrations," Mark advised. "What information do you think I can get out of the councillor?" "Anything that happened in the first year when Glebe High School's results improved so dramatically. New initiatives, new curriculum, new teachers, I don't know, anything," Mark replied. "And what will you be doing while I'm fluttering my eyes at some sleazeball?" Flick asked. Mark laughed at her stereotyping the local politician. "I, my sweet, I will be having a few drinks in the pub closest to Glebe High School." When Mark saw the darkening look on Felicity's face he hurried to explain. "That's where the old lags on the teaching staff are bound to pop in for a drink after a hard day at the 'chalk-face'. I'm going to be doing the same as you, pumping them for any information about Glebe High School's 'golden years'. What was behind them and why have they come to an end?" Mark explained. "After that, I'm going to dig into the purchase of the casino you visited. If the Hamiltons are involved with that maybe there's something I can find out about how they paid for it. You know what they say - follow the money!" ------- Kenny MacGovern wasn't satisfied with merely setting the Hamiltons onto Mark MacGhee. He e-mailed a selected number of other former pupils on his database with what he knew about the journalist too. Roddy Hamilton had e-mailed details of MacGhee's address and mobile phone number and Kenny passed these details on. He selected those who he felt would be able to help him most. The list included a number of policemen and he used the Church of Cyberscience code to make sure that they kept an eye out for anything to do with the journalist, to feed back intelligence and to have a little fun into the bargain. Others he made contact with were in the financial and insurance sectors and he was looking for these people to gather any information they could on MacGhee, anything that might prove useful. Less than hour later he already had his first success. A former pupil who worked at Direct Line Insurance (a subsidiary of the Royal Bank of Scotland, RBS) e-mailed with details of MacGhee's cars. The name and address were enough to search the company's database and identify that the journalist had two cars insured through Direct Line. Kenny wasted no time in passing the car registration numbers on to those who could use the information. Once he had set in train as much as he could, Kenny sat back with a satisfied smile. He had something else to look forward to and MacGhee wasn't going to spoil it. His reputation for getting results had spread throughout the education community and even beyond Scotland's shores. Kenny had been invited to a prestigious gathering of leading education experts in Washington and he had been thinking over the past few weeks about how he could spread his influence around the globe. He saw the conference as an opportunity to use his brain defragmenter to reach out to the youth of other countries around the world and he was going to grasp it with both hands. It might also be a good thing for him to be out of the country if and when something happened to MacGhee, a watertight alibi was always helpful. ------- Duncan had received a text message from his brother and he now had details of the cars that the journalist drove. How Roddy had managed to get that information he didn't know, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. He rapped on the window of the stationary BMW and the glass slid down silently to reveal one of the clan members who was currently watching MacGhee's apartment. The development that the apartments were part of was up-market and the Beamer was certainly not out of place. "Seen anything?" Duncan asked. "Nothing, it's quieter than a Jewish pork eating convention" replied the watcher. "Very funny, you should be on the stage with lines like that," Duncan sneered. Parking for the apartments was carefully set out in front of each building and it was an easy job to identify the Ford Mondeo that belonged to the journalist. The Porche Carerra was nowhere to be seen and that suggested MacGhee was out somewhere driving it. Duncan decided to be bold, things had gone so smoothly up until now he just had a feeling it would be the right thing to do. He pulled out his mobile phone and dialled a number from memory. When his call was answered he kept his orders brief. "Cat, drop whatever you're doing and get your arse over here." ------- The Broadway looked as if it had seen better days. The outside of the pub was a mess of flaking paintwork and tired brick. Mark had driven round the area of the school and decided this pub was the most likely to attract the staff he was interested in. Parking in one of the nearby residential streets, he walked back to the pub and checked his watch. It was 15:30 and he had a hunch that the kind of teacher he was interested in wouldn't hang around after classes finished for the day. He was looking for the tired, older teacher who was disillusioned with the job, run down by the stress through years of trying to educate teenagers with the attitude brought on by developing hormones. He had half an hour to get settled in the pub and look out for likely candidates. The teachers were easy to pick out when they wandered into the bar. The loosened ties and crumpled suits were a dead give-away and Mark let them get settled over a pint before he made his move. Three men sat at the table next to his own and he could overhear their conversation enough to confirm they were teachers. "I'm telling you, I was this close to punching the little bastard's lights out! If I told him once to keep his mouth shut, I told him a hundred times!" said one. "Let me guess, Craig Simmons?" asked another. "Correct, score five points," the first teacher confirmed. "I know exactly how you feel, I've been trying to get that little fucker excluded for nearly two years," added the third. "The only way Simmons is going to understand my lessons is if I pound them into his microscopic brain with a ten pound hammer and I admit I'm sorely tempted," the first proclaimed. Mark listened as all three of the teachers laughed loudly at this last remark. "How the hell we're supposed to deliver a lesson to the others with little shits like him disrupting things is beyond me. I'm just sick of the whole thing, disillusioned with teaching altogether." "The parents are as much to blame. God knows what kind of influence they're trying to exert, as far as I can see none! When they turn up for parent's/teacher's nights it's clear they think butter wouldn't melt in the mouths of their little darlings. I'd like to make them take classes for a week and see how they felt about their angelic children after that! I marked my third year class' papers last night and all but two failed. Thick as the proverbial two short planks!" "It's true, the parents are doing nothing to help. The only time in the last ten years I've felt as if I've achieved something was those few years when we somehow managed to get a crop of good kids all together at the same time. Man, that was good. The shit we've got now - hell, don't try and tell me they're our future - I think I might puke!" Mark picked up on the reference to what could only be what he had referred to as the 'golden years' and took his cue. Leaning over and acting like a man who had already had too many beers he tried to join the conversation. "Hey, the kids are alright!" he giggled inanely. The three teachers looked at him as if he was something they had picked up on their shoe off of the sidewalk then turned pointedly to ignore him. "Hey, why are you guys running the kids down? I thought it was your job to mould them into tomorrow's world-beaters? Isn't Scotland supposed to be the best small country in the world?" he asked, playing on the government's latest slogan. "If the kids we're teaching now are our future take it from me we're fucked!" one teacher couldn't resist expressing his opinion. "Do you teach at Glebe? I thought the high school was way out in front in Scotland?" Mark threw in. "A few years ago that might have been true but not anymore. The crop we've got now are just more of the same losers that you see on the news every night - gang violence, hooliganism, completely out of control," one of the teachers growled. "So what's changed? What made the difference between a few years ago and now?" Mark asked drunkenly. The teachers were obviously annoyed at his intrusion but couldn't resist his line of questioning as it was very much in tune with their own thoughts. "Society is going down the tubes. Traditional family values mean nothing anymore and it sucks!" ------- Felicity made her way to one of the many Costa Coffee shops for her meeting with Nathaniel Graham, a councillor on the Dundee City council. She was not looking forward to the occasion but knew that she would be able to handle the politician well enough. A quick Internet search on her laptop had produced a standard press digest and photo of the man and she picked him out easily amongst the sparse late afternoon coffee-drinking crowd. Walking up to Graham, she introduced herself. "Mr Graham? Hi, I'm Felicity Cartwright. Pleased to meet you." She held out her hand and they exchanged a handshake. "Ms Cartwright, the pleasure is all mine but I thought I was meeting Mark MacGhee. Is he joining us?" the politician asked. Flick could barely control the shiver that threatened to run through her at the way Graham was openly and hungrily eyeing her up. His grip was limp, his hand hot and sweaty as they shook and she forced herself to smile, fluttering her eyelashes at the man. "I'm sorry, Mark couldn't make it and he asked me to step in for him. He's briefed me on what he is looking for though so hopefully we can get down to business." Flick was sure she heard the politician murmur something about 'getting down to business with her' but chose to ignore it, instead ordering a large latte as she took a stool beside him at the coffee bar. When she caught Graham trying to peer down the front of her blouse she made a mental note to make Mark pay for putting her through this. "Okay, Ms Cartwright what can I do for you?" "Please, call me Felicity?" she offered. "Okay, Felicity, what are you interested in?" he asked. "Well Mr Graham, Mark is interested in innovations and examples of excellent performance across Dundee's schools. He's writing a piece on how Scotland's performance on education stacks up against our European neighbours and needs some colour to bring the article to life," she replied. The councillor was like all politicians around the world - he didn't need a second invitation to talk, they all seemed to love the sound of their own voice. He immediately launched into a description of all of the notable successes he was responsible for. Flick held in a sigh as she knew she was in for a difficult and crashingly boring afternoon. ------- Duncan spotted 'Cat' as soon as he turned into the street. He flicked the switch to lower the electric window of the car and waved the man over. Cat looked out of place in the classy neighbourhood and Duncan wanted him out of sight as quickly as possible. The rumpled clothing and unkempt, unshaven look was not the norm for Wardlaw Garden Heights he knew and it was important not to arouse the suspicions of the locals. Once the man was in the back of the Beamer, Duncan explained why he had called. "Okay, here's the deal. I need access to one of these apartments and I need it in a way that won't be picked up. It has to be a clean in and out, do you understand?" he asked. "No problem, boss. Which one?" the experienced burglar asked. "That one over there, number 113A," Duncan replied. "What does it look like at the back?" Cat asked. "I've no idea, why?" "It's a ground floor gaff and entry from the back might be relatively easy. I need to have a look see," said Cat. "You stay where you are! The last thing we need is one of the neighbours seeing you snooping around. What are you looking for? I'll go and have a peek for you," said Duncan. "Okay, keep your hair on. I'm interested in seeing if the place has French windows. That's always an easy way in and if the place has them I need to know if there's a security lock fitted," replied Cat. Duncan nodded to show he understood and then left the car to wander casually further down the street. There was a path leading along the side of the apartment building and he sauntered up it, his confident stride signalling that he belonged here, he was not out of place. The path ended in a wrought iron gate but there was no lock on it and Duncan opened it and passed through. The rear of the apartment building was well maintained with lush green lawns and tidy flowerbeds. There was even a couple of purpose built barbecue grills. Each of the ground floor apartments did indeed have a set of French windows leading out onto the gardens and Duncan noticed that the upper floor apartments also had an individual balcony with French windows leading out to them. He carefully counted the doors he walked to make sure he identified 113A and as he passed he scrutinised the doors to see whether there was any security locks fitted. Reversing direction, he made his way back along the path. As he walked, Duncan confirmed the fact that the rear of the building was not overlooked by anything else as it faced out onto the rolling Lanarkshire hills. He made it back to the car without incident and reported what he had found. "French windows and no security locks," he informed Cat. "Easy then, piece of piss," said Cat. "How long will it take you to get in?" Duncan asked. "About ten seconds," Cat responded with a grin. Duncan was sceptical about the claim but decided there was little risk of them being observed at the rear of the building. "Okay. Let's do it then. Don't touch anything once we're inside," he warned. The two men walked briskly up the path, pulling on gloves as they went to remove the possibility of leaving any prints. Once again Duncan carefully counted the doors until the arrived at the rear entrance to number 113A. "This is it," he said. "Stand back and watch the master at work," Cat replied. Duncan watched as Cat bent down and gripped the bottom of the sliding door securely in both hands. He lifted upwards, pushing the top of the French window into the upper recess and popping the bottom out of its runner. In doing so, he disengaged the standard lock and was then able to slide the door open enough for them both to enter. Setting the door down, Cat turned and grinned at Duncan in triumph. It had taken all of two seconds to gain entry. "See! I told you it was easy," said Cat. Duncan didn't respond and instead pushed his way past the curtain on the inside of the door and into the apartment, Cat following along behind. A quick scan of the rooms told Duncan to concentrate his search in what looked to be the journalist's study. A desk sat against one wall with a home computer sitting on top of it. The rest of the available space on the desktop was taken up with a mess of papers and it was to these that Duncan turned his attention first. "What are we looking for?" Cat asked. "I'll know it when I see it, in the meantime just do what I told you. Don't touch anything," Duncan replied without looking up. Rifling through the papers turned up a number of coloured charts. Studying them Duncan realised they were charts of school examination results for the school he and his brother had attended. He mused that it could be a co-incidence and he didn't find anything else that was of interest on the desktop. Opening the desk drawer, he flicked through a series of buff folders filed away there, stopping when he came to one labelled 'Glasgow underworld'. Duncan pulled the folder out, being careful to mark its place so he could return it. When he opened the folder he said one word out loud. "Bingo!" The folder contained a series of photographs of various members of the clan he and his brother were now controlling. There were even a number of pics where he and Roddy featured. He had his confirmation that the journalist was indeed investigating them and action would need to be taken. Duncan returned the folder and closed the drawer. Removing a small metallic disc from his pocket, he scanned the living room and then quickly unscrewed the underside of the journalist's phone and fixed the bug inside. "Okay, I've seen enough. Let's get out of here," he said. Cat took a little longer to replace the French window, the lock proving tricky to get back into its housing. It was still only a matter of thirty seconds or so before they were heading back to the car, no sign of their entry visible and no witnesses either. Duncan pulled out his mobile phone and made arrangements for a nondescript tradesman's van to take up post. Having someone in the back of the van would be less suspicious than someone sitting in a car all day and that way he could have someone listen in to whatever the bug picked up. ------- Mark dropped the drunken act as soon as he left the Broadway and walked back to the Porche. He was disappointed that he hadn't got anything useful from the disgruntled teachers. They had no real explanation for the 'golden years' and he had just wasted two hours listening to their cynical and pathetic whining about the lack of respect from kids today. Glancing at his watch he saw that it was already after five pm and he debated whether to try and contact Flick so they could catch a bite to eat before heading back to Glasgow. That way they would miss the worst of the evening rush hour traffic leaving Dundee. He tried Flick's mobile number but only got her message service. "Hi, Flick. It's me. I'm finished with the cream of Glebe High School's teaching staff and wondered whether you fancied grabbing something to eat before heading back. You're obviously busy so I'll just head off. Ring when you're free," he said. Traffic wasn't too bad as he made his way onto the main A90 South. Passing Invergowrie, he was coming up on Longforgan when he heard the wail of a siren behind him and saw flashing blue lights in his rear view mirror. He glanced at his speedo and saw that he was doing just barely over the speed limit. "Fuck! I'm two lousy miles an hour over the limit, why is this bastard pulling me over?". He spotted a lay-by and indicated to show he was stopping. The police car pulled in behind him and an officer got out. Mark turned off the Porche's engine and lowered his window. "Good evening officer," he remained polite. The policeman clearly wasn't interested in pleasant conversation. "Do you realise you were breaking the speed limit sir?" he asked. "Surely not officer? It is a sixty mile an hour limit here, isn't it?" Mark asked. "You were travelling at sixty-three miles an hour sir. I'd like you to remove your keys from the ignition. Are you the owner of the vehicle? Do you have details of your license and insurance with you?" the officer asked. Mark fought to keep his anger in check; he knew that losing it wouldn't help in the current situation. Three fucking miles an hour over the limit - this was a joke! The policeman 'invited' him to sit in the rear of the police car while he was lectured about speeding and a ticket was written out. "This is a fixed penalty fine, sir. It's payable either by post or at the address given in the notice here. I also need to warn you that this offence carries a three-point penalty on your license. You have the statutory time available within which you will need to present yourself at Dundee police station with documentation to show you are the owner of the vehicle. You will also need to present your full driving license and evidence that you are insured to drive the car. Do you understand everything I've said, sir?" Mark confirmed he understood. "Then that's all. Drive carefully and within the speed limit. Goodnight, sir," the policeman finished. His partner opened the rear door to let Mark out and he made his way back to the Porche, still fighting to control his anger. For the remainder of the drive back to Glasgow Mark made sure he was at least one mile below the speed limit. He already had three points on his license and this latest ticket had him halfway to a driving ban. Once back at the apartment, Mark let his temper off of its leash. He threw the car keys across the living room and screamed 'fuck', loudly. He kicked out at the sofa as he passed it on the way to pouring himself a glass of wine then settled himself in front of his computer. The best way to try and get out of his current mood was to do some work to take his mind off of things. Logging-on to the Internet, he used google to find a web site called Friendsreunited. This was a social networking site that allowed people to register and make contact with those they had gone to school with. Mark used it now to find the names of people who had attended Glebe High School at the same time as the Hamiltons. He was just closing the website down when his phone rang. "Hi," he answered. "Mark, you so owe me for what I've had to endure this afternoon," he heard Flick say. "Oh dear, was it that bad?" he asked. "Think of having to listen to the speaking clock for two hours and then double it and then add on a weasel who stared at your tits for two hours. God, that man is so up himself and sooo boring! I think I've got a good print of his retina on my chest as well, what a letch. Urgh, I need a shower before I'll feel clean," she said. "How about I take you out to dinner as a thank you?" Mark asked. "Done! I'll go home first and have a shower then drop by your place," Flick replied. "Anyway, you got off lightly," Mark added, "I wasted two hours speaking to probably the worst teachers in the world. Glebe High School must be really scraping the bottom of the barrel. "Then to top it all off I was stopped by some of Tayside's finest on my way home. A forty pound fine and three points on my license for being three lousy miles over the speed limit!" "Oh you poor little lamb. Never mind, I'll cheer you up tonight. See you in about two hours, think of somewhere nice to take me," she laughed. ------- Mark hadn't paid any attention to the white Renault van he passed as he parked the Porche. Two men lay in the back of the van, one with a set of headphones on listening to everything that was said in his apartment and jotting down notes in a pad. The other man was monitoring the performance of the receiving equipment. When Mark phoned the Buttery to book a table the details were written down and passed to Duncan Hamilton within minutes. Details of his reference to the teachers from Glebe High School were also passed on. ------- Mark opened the door to let Felicity in and was blown away once more with just how gorgeous she looked. Subtle touches of make-up accentuated her high cheekbones and brought out the colour of her eyes. She had opted for a simple summer dress but on her it looked like the height of fashion, her curves filling it out just right. "Where are you taking me?" she asked after kissing him hello. "I've got a table booked at the Buttery for eight-thirty," he replied. "Oh, you do know how to spoil a girl, don't you?" she squealed. The restaurant was one of Glasgow's finest. The atmosphere was decadent and the quality of the food second to none. The prices of course reflected that. Flick knew he was spoiling her and she appreciated it. They took a taxi to the restaurant, situated on Glasgow's Argyle Street. The meal was excellent and the company more so and Mark soon forgot about his frustrating afternoon and his anger at the speeding ticket. They discussed how they had got on with their respective tasks for the afternoon and Mark had Flick laughing with his description of the hard-bitten teachers. "Did you get anything useful from Councillor Graham?" he asked her. "Councillor boring pervert you mean! God that man. He talked to my tits the whole time!" Mark laughed at her description of the creepy councillor and how she had amused herself by building mental images of poking him in the eye. "Two hours listening to him going on and on about all the wonderful things he's done for Dundee. Christ, if only half of them were true Dundee would be the best performing city in the world bar none." "Yes, but did you find out anything interesting about the school?" Mark pressed. "Not much I'm afraid. I had to steer him onto the subject and when I did he remembered that it had performed really well in the past. I asked him whether he knew of any particular reason why and he shrugged as if to say 'who knows'." "But councils have a responsibility for the quality of the education their schools provide. Weren't the council interested in trying to find out how Glebe was doing so well so they could try and have other schools copy them?" Mark asked. "Well, I pressed him and he did say that they had sent in a quality improvement officer to try and identify best practice. Apparently there was also a school inspection during that period too. "The only thing Mr Graham could put the school's performance down to was good leadership and excellent teaching. He remembered one teacher in particular - a real force apparently and he ended up being fast tracked to promotion. Kenneth MacGovern was the name he gave me. He said he thought MacGovern was now a head teacher somewhere in Fife." "Well that's less than useless. Two hours of torture by the sounds of it for sod all!" Mark said. He excused himself to make a visit to the gents and as he stepped inside he felt someone behind him. Without warning, Mark was pushed violently up against the wall of the toilet stall and three quick-fire blows thudded into his kidneys. Groaning in agony, Mark slipped to the floor and felt a boot lash repeatedly into his ribs. He tried to curl up into a ball to protect himself but the blows continued to hammer into his body with sickening force. On the point of blacking out from the excruciating pain, he felt a hand grab his hair and his head was pulled backwards. A voice spoke menacingly into his ear. "Keep your fucking nose out of where it's not wanted or this will seem like a walk in the park!" The hand slammed his head forward, smashing Mark's face against the toilet floor and then he dimly heard the door behind him opening and closing as his attacker left. Despite the agony from the burning pain in his ribs and kidneys, Mark's first thought was Flick. He had to make sure she was safe. Pulling himself up by holding onto a washbasin, he peered at himself in the toilet mirror and saw that his nose was bleeding badly and there was blood smeared over his face. Blood had also dripped onto his shirt. Each breath he took sent a sharp pain through him and he feared his ribs had been broken. Grimacing in pain, the image of Flick being in possible danger helped force him to shuffle slowly and painfully over to the dispenser where he pulled out several paper towels. Wetting them in the basin, he tried to wipe away the worst of the blood. Mark couldn't staunch the flow so he wadded up another couple of towels and held them to his nose. The only other visible signs of his beating were some scuffmarks on his suit jacket, the few drops of blood on his shirt and the pain etched on his face. He was satisfied that this was as good as he was going to manage and he gingerly stepped to the door and back through into the restaurant, immediately relieved to see Flick sitting at the table. She saw him moving slowly back towards the table and a look of horror appeared on her face. She jumped up and rushed toward him, putting her arm round his back and drawing a gasp of pain. "Mark! What happened?" she cried. "Shhh, calm down," Mark managed to gasp as the pain from his ribs threatened to overwhelm him. Flick helped him the rest of the way to the table and he lowered himself gingerly into his chair. "Let's just ... ahhhh ... let's just pay the bill and ... ughh ... leave," he groaned. Flick's eyes were looking wildly around the restaurant for any sign of trouble and then back at the damage visible to Mark's face. "Mark, what happened? Who did this? We need to call the police!" she said, almost in a panic. "Flick ... uhhh ... leave it. I'll ... I'll explain later. We need ... need to get away ... uggh ... from here. Could you ... ahhhh ... ask for the bill please?" Mark was still finding it painful to even breathe and his face had taken on a white pallor as he struggled to deal with the damage to his body. Flick seemed to regain control and quickly called for the bill and for a taxi to be ordered for them. Somehow Mark managed to reach into his inside pocket and pull out his wallet so that he could fish out a card and pay for their meal. Ten agonising minutes later for Mark and they were in a taxi and on their way to the nearby Accident and Emergency unit of Glasgow's Royal Infirmary. It took more than three hours for Mark to wait to be seen, to have x-rays taken of his ribs and finally to be cleaned up, have his ribs taped and some painkillers administered. The doctor who examined him told him he had been lucky and that no bones were broken. The ribs would be painful for a while but normal painkillers would take care of the worst of that. By the time another taxi had taken them back to Wardlaw Garden Heights it was already close to 2 am and Mark just wanted to lie down and try and find a position that eased the pain a little. He knew however, that he would need to try and describe what had happened and tell Flick about the warning he had received so that she was aware of the possible danger. "Flick, somebody jumped me when I went to the gents. There was no warning, I was just clubbed from behind, forced the floor and somebody kicked the shit out of me. "Once whoever it was thought they had done enough damage I was told to keep my nose out of where it wasn't wanted," Mark managed to say. "Oh my god! Do you think it was the Hamiltons?" Flick asked quickly. "Well I can't think of anybody else who has a reason for beating me up. Not even any angry ex-boyfriends," Mark tried to joke. "Mark, this is serious! What are you going to do?" she admonished him. "I'm going to try and drive to Dundee tomorrow. I'm going to go and present all of my documents at the police station there and then I'm going to try and get the head teacher at Glebe High School to speak to me again. Maybe turning up in person will change his mind," Mark said. "Are you sure that's wise? If this was meant as a warning don't you think you should take heed? Maybe you should just pass on what you have to that DI MacIntosh and back off?" Flick suggested. "I've got sod-all to go to MacIntosh with! Besides, I'm not going to let some low-life thugs stop me from getting my story, Flick. You should know me better than that. You're a different matter though, I think it might be best if I follow through on things myself from here on in." "Not a chance buster! Look at the state of you - it's obvious you need somebody to look after you," Flick replied. "Felicity Cartwright, would you just do as you're told for once. These guys aren't fucking about, you could get hurt." "Forget it. I'm in and I'm staying in, you're not getting rid of me that easy. Now, when are you going to help me move my few bits and pieces in here?" she asked. Despite the all-over body ache, Mark managed to raise a warm smile at Flick's casual way of signalling her intention to move in with him. "Good. I can't tell you how happy I am that you're going to come. But I'm guessing we'll need to hire a truck to shift what you call a few bits and pieces - I've never met a woman yet who travels that light! I'm in no state for heavy lifting just now so I'm afraid we'll need to put it off for a few days." Flick's expression fell for a second but she quickly realised the truth of what Mark was saying and having waited this long she decided she could bear to wait a few days more. "Okay, how about I try and make you comfortable for the night and cuddle up to your back to keep you warm?" she offered. "That sounds like the best offer I've had in years." ------- Mark's intention to carry on with investigation had been overheard via the electronic bug and already it had been reported to the Hamiltons. Duncan had hoped that roughing the journalist up would have been enough to get him to drop his interest but it was clear stronger medicine was going to be required. He lifted his mobile phone and began to make some calls. ------- Kenny found out about the police 'harassment' of the journalist when he checked his e-mail first thing in the morning. One of his former pupils, now on the Tayside police force reported that he had stopped MacGhee for speeding. He also had a message updating him on the attack that had taken place in the restaurant the night before and MacGhee's determination to continue with his investigation. "Do yourself a favour and drop it! I can promise you it's only going to end in tears," he thought to himself. He showered quickly and packed his suitcase in the trunk of his car before heading for the airport and his flight to Washington. As he drove, Kenny forced himself to relax. It was the Hamiltons who were under threat here and they had plenty of motivation to deal with the problem. There was no way the journalist could pick up his own trail and with any luck he would be out of the way soon anyway. ------- Mark came awake slowly and he felt an unfamiliar heat and touch against his bare back. The memory that Flick had stayed the night came back to him along with the knowledge that she had agreed to move in with him. Surprisingly, his aches and pains didn't feel anywhere near as bad as they had before going to bed and he tried to slip out from under the duvet without waking Flick. As soon as he tried to get himself standing upright the pain returned with a vengeance. The area around his left kidney was an agonising, deep-seated ache and his breathing was still painful due to the bruising on his ribs. He shuffled into the bathroom and opened the cabinet to find some painkillers, washing two pills down with some water. Making his way through to the kitchen, he put on a pot of coffee and started to get the fixings out of the fridge to make some scrambled eggs. "What do you think you're doing?" Flick asked as she swept into the kitchen. "I'm trying to be a good host and make us some breakfast," Mark replied. "Mark, I stay here now, remember? There's no need for you to be the host. Anyway, what I meant was that you shouldn't be trying to do that in your state." "Flick, I'm fine. Just a few bruises. I can manage," he replied. She relented and took a seat at the breakfast bar, watching him struggle through the routine of making the eggs and some toast. Despite his injuries she had to admit he still managed to do a good job and she appreciated the perfectly seasoned eggs and the toast he set down in front of her. The coffee was ready and they both had a cup as they discussed their plans for the day. "I need to go to the police station and present my license and insurance documents. After that I'm going to try and get in to see the head teacher at Glebe," Mark said. "What can I do?" Flick asked. "Why don't you try and do some digging on the school results and on the purchase of the casino? Finding out where the money came from for that purchase might be very interesting," Mark suggested. "How about I join you for lunch?" she asked. "Fine, give me a ring when you get to Dundee." Getting dressed was a major trial for Mark and he had to give in and let Flick help him on with his shirt and tie his shoelaces. Once dressed, he looked out the necessary documents to take to the police station and he locked up behind them as they left his apartment. The sporty Porche was too much of a challenge in his current state and instead Mark headed for his non-descript Ford Mondeo. He dropped Felicity off at her apartment and headed northwards for Dundee. Once again the white van parked in the street outside the apartment hadn't registered and neither did the car following him as he drove up the M80 out of Glasgow. Mark took pains to remain within the speed limit but nearing the outskirts of Dundee he was surprised when a police car pulled in behind him and signalled for him to pull over. He was even more surprised when the same policeman from the day before got out of the police car and approached him. Mark lowered the window. "What seems to be the problem this time officer?" he asked. Mark was suspicious when the policeman didn't appear surprised at finding Mark was the driver. He had clearly recognised him from the day before but made no reference to it. "Did you realise you're driving with a faulty taillight, sir?" he asked. "I'm sorry, officer but I can assure you all the lights were working fine when I left Glasgow," he replied. Mark watched as the officer circled the Mondeo clearly looking to find anything else wrong with the car. He checked the tyres on each side before returning to the window. "Please have it looked at as soon as possible, sir. It shouldn't really be on the road if the lights aren't functioning properly. Have a nice day." With that the officer returned to his patrol car and it pulled back into traffic. Mark sat for a few minutes reflecting on what had just happened. Despite the fact that he was in a completely different car the officer almost seemed to know he was the driver before he had pulled him over. "Stop it! You're getting paranoid my son. How could he possibly have known it was me? Come on, let's get on with it," he thought to himself. Mark found a small auto shop in Dundee and pulled in to have the lights checked. The last thing he wanted was to give the police any excuse to stop him again. He explained his problem to the mechanic and sat down to wait for him to carry out the repair. The door to the waiting area opened a few minutes later. "Which light did you say was faulty?" asked the mechanic. "One of the tail-lights," Mark replied. "They're both working fine. Maybe one of the bulbs is a little loose." Mark's suspicions about being targeted by the police returned with that information. Had the faulty taillight merely been an excuse to pull him over? Had the officer been hoping to find something wrong with the car so he could write him out another ticket? He thanked the mechanic and drove off to find the police station so he could present his documents as required. The station was on West Bell Street, a modern structure of concrete and glass with the forces' coat of arms above the door. Parking in the visitor's car park, Mark made his way inside and spoke to the duty sergeant at the front desk. "Good morning officer. I was booked for speeding yesterday and told I had to present my license and insurance documents," he said, laying his copy of the speeding ticket and his documents down. The policeman checked that the details of the car on the ticket matched the insurance details and also looked over Mark's driver's license. "It looks like you already have three points on here, sir. With another three for yesterday, you'll need to drive more carefully or you just might be losing this," he said. Mark thought it better not to reply so he simply nodded to show he understood the warning. The sergeant told him that everything was in order and that he could go. Walking back outside, Mark was stunned to see that one of the taillights on the Mondeo had been smashed. He quickly returned to the desk to complain. "This is unbelievable! I was only in here for five minutes but somebody has managed to smash one of the lights on my car. It's parked in a bloody police car park for god's sake, how does that happen?" The sergeant gave him a dirty look. "Sir, I advise you to moderate your language. Now, what seems to be the problem?" "While I was talking to you somebody has deliberately smashed one of the lights on my car. Don't you have CCTV here? Surely you can find out who did this in your own car park?" Mark demanded. "I'm sure it's just been a wee accident, sir. There's a garage just up the road where you can have it repaired. I would advise you to do that before you try to drive the car anywhere. It's illegal to drive with a broken light," the sergeant responded. Mark couldn't believe the attitude. His car had been damaged and this policeman didn't appear to be in the least bit interested in investigating the incident. He shook his head and walked back outside again, scanning the car park and spotting the closed circuit TV camera mounted high up on the wall of the station. It clearly had a good view of his car but the officer wasn't interested in looking at the footage to find out what had happened. The rest of the morning was equally frustrating for Mark. He returned to the garage and the mechanic gave him a funny look when he explained what had happened. He had to wait an hour and a half while the correct glass was delivered from a parts supplier so the damage could be repaired. "That looks deliberate that," the mechanic said, "no damage to the body work so it wasn't another vehicle that broke the light. If you ask me, somebody has smashed the light with something." Mark had his own suspicions but he kept them to himself and paid for the repair. He had no luck in getting in to see Stevenson, the head teacher at Glebe High School either. The school secretary was clearly very experienced at guarding access to her boss and nothing Mark said made a blind bit of difference. "I'm very sorry, sir. Mr Stevenson is a very busy man and you will have to make an appointment to see him, you just can't walk in off of the street like this." "But I only need a few minutes with him," Mark countered. "I'm sorry, sir. You need an appointment, no exceptions." Mark could see the door to the head teacher's office immediately behind the woman and he was tempted to just walk in. As if anticipating just such a move the secretary stood up and placed herself directly between him and the door. "Now, sir. I'll have to ask you to leave. If you would like to leave your name and a contact number, I'll make sure Mr Stevenson gets them." Mark admitted defeat and left his business card before returning to the Mondeo. The only high point of the day was the phone call and then lunch with Flick but by then the pain from his injuries was starting to get unbearable and once they had eaten Mark decided to call it a day and return home. ------- The silver Honda Civic had been following the Mondeo throughout the morning. When Mark had parked up to meet Flick for lunch the driver of the Civic phoned Duncan Hamilton and gave an update on how Mark had spent his morning. "Well, it's been kind of strange. First of all he was pulled over by the police before he even got to Dundee. He stopped off at a garage and then went to Dundee police station. "While he was in the station, the copper who had pulled him over turned up and used his baton to smash one of the lights on his car." "What the fuck was that all about?" Duncan asked. "No idea, boss. Anyway, he got the car fixed and them he went to the school you said he would. He wasn't in there long, only about ten minutes and by the looks of him when he came out he didn't get what he wanted." "What's he doing now?" Duncan asked. "Looks like he's gone for lunch." "Okay, he's had his warning. Finish it at the next opportunity but make sure it looks like an accident," Duncan ordered. The Civic driver confirmed he understood the message and ended the call. He was very calm despite what he had been ordered to do, in fact he figured he had time to grab himself a sandwich from the little shop opposite without any danger of losing his target. ------- Just north of Perth, the A90 road sweeps left in a very tight bend. The Mondeo was easing round it at sixty miles an hour. The Honda Civic drew close to the rear of the Ford and the driver glanced once in his rear view mirror to ensure what he was about to do wouldn't be witnessed. ------- Chapter 6 The Honda Civic closed the distance between it and the Mondeo just as the sweep of the tight bend in the road began. The driver's face wore a grim and determined look as he judged the speed, timing and positioning then stamped hard on the accelerator and swung the wheel over to the right. The Civic rammed into the rear of the Mondeo at an angle, forcing the larger car to veer sharply towards the hard-shoulder and the steep embankment on the left. Flick screamed as she felt the impact and fought to remain in control of the Ford. At sixty-miles and hour everything happened fast but her reflexes were good. The Mondeo slewed across the lane and most of the hard-shoulder safety lane before she managed to straighten and avoid plunging off of the road altogether. A quick glance in her rear-view mirror revealed the fact that the car that had hit her was intent on having another try. She frantically dropped down the manual gears and pushed the accelerator to the floor in an attempt at putting some distance between her and her attacker. Over lunch Mark had explained his suspicions about being targeted by the police and his concerns about the number of penalty points he had already amassed on his driver's license. Flick had happily agreed to swap cars for the return journey to Glasgow and now he watched in amazement as someone tried to force the Mondeo into a deadly crash. He knew that Flick's Audi TT was easily able to outrun both his own Ford and the little family saloon that was attacking Felicity so he floored the accelerator and barrelled down the road, rapidly catching up to them both. The driver in the Civic was focused intently on his intended target and failed to notice the Audi as it overhauled him. Mark switched to the outside lane and brought Flick's car alongside the Honda. When the driver glanced towards him, he could see the look of surprise and recognition on the man's face. Mark took advantage of the other man's momentary lapse in concentration and wrenched the wheel of the Audi to the left, sideswiping the Honda as hard as he could. He watched as the other car lurched across the hard-shoulder and then flipped as its off-side front wheel clipped the concrete verge. The Honda rolled as it left the highway, jumping the metal crash barrier before turning through one hundred and eighty degrees as it sailed down the embankment towards a stand of trees. Mark didn't hang around to learn the driver's fate, instead falling in behind Flick and the Mondeo, both of them now doing well over eighty-miles an hour. The left side indicator light on the Mondeo began flashing to show that Felicity intended to pull over and stop. Mark quickly flicked the full-beam on the Audi's headlights to grab her attention and shook his head at her. Having already been targeted by the police twice (and possibly three times if the broken taillight had anything to do with them) he wasn't taking any chances. Flick got the message and they drove on until eventually Mark signalled to pull off of the A90. Not far from the exit road there was a service station and he pulled into the car park, stopping the Audi and turning off the engine. Now that the immediate danger had passed, his entire body began to shake at the realisation of just how close they had both come to death or at the very least serious injury. The passenger door of the Audi jerked open and Flick was suddenly in his face. "What the fuck have you done to my baby? Look at the fucking damage, what were you thinking of!" she screamed. Mark recognised immediately that Flick was in shock and her normal thinking processes had shut down on her. In reaching out to grab hold of something to avoid facing up to the danger she had been in, she instead was lashing out at him for the damage to her car. Her brain was trying anything to help her cope with situation. Mark reached across and put his arms around her, pulling her fully into the passenger seat and hugging her tightly. He felt her shoulders tense up and then relax as Felicity let herself go. Instantly she was shaking and her body was wracked with deep sobbing. Mark continued to hold her, the act of comforting another pushing back his own reaction to the attack. He rubbed her back and held her head to his shoulder, letting the contact re-assure her subconscious that she was safe. "I'm sorry for shouting at you, I don't know what I was doing," he heard her mumble into his shoulder. Mark pulled back so that he could see her face. "Ssh, it's okay, I understand. That was as close to meeting the almighty as I want to get for a long while," he told her. "Did someone really try and run me off of the road?" Flick asked. "He thought you were me. When I pulled up alongside him he recognised me and was clearly surprised that I wasn't driving the Mondeo," Mark replied. "But why attack either of us?" Flick queried, still somewhat out of it. "Why was I beaten up last night? Why have I been stopped twice in two days by the police? Why was my car smashed up? To be honest I don't know what the hell is going on. "I do know that that was a deliberate attempt to kill me but as to who is behind it and why, I'm fucked if I know," said Mark. "Why didn't you want me to stop?" Flick asked. "Think about it. For all I know that guy was a policeman. Do you want to take the chance of being framed as if it was all our doing?" Mark replied. Flick felt that Mark was getting paranoid over this idea that he was being targeted by the police. It was much too much for her to believe that they could somehow be targeting him, much less that they could be responsible for such a violent attack. She shook her head in disbelief. Mark ignored her gesture and opened the door of the Audi. He made a quick circuit of both cars and decided that the damage was nothing that would stop them from getting back on the road and back to Glasgow. He returned the Audi's keys to Flick. "Here, it might be better if you drive your own car from now on. I don't want to take a chance that you'll be mistaken for me again," he said. Felicity handed him the keys to the Ford in return. "Let's just get back to Glasgow and then we can speak to MacIntosh. At least I know I can trust him and maybe he'll be able to make some sense of all of this." ------- The conference was being held in the State Plaza Hotel which was on the campus of George Washington University and Kenny was booked in there for four nights. The delegate list told him that there were eminent educationalists from all around the world - the US, Canada, Australia, Europe and a number of countries from the former Soviet Union, including Russia. The list made his mouth water at the potential it held out for him. Inside Kenny's suitcase sat six modified Nintendo consoles and he planned to try and set-up some new devotees of the Church of Cyberscience before the week was out. If he could upload his program into the minds of some of these people he would be able to control them. If he also left them with a console of their own to take away, as he planned to, he could open up the prospect of access to the best students around the world. The Church of Cyberscience was on the verge of a major global expansion! Duping the delegates into using the consoles was ridiculously easy. Naturally curious people, one by one they asked what Kenny was doing when he pulled out the game during coffee breaks. "I use it to get my students to limber up and get focused at the start of lessons," he explained to a Professor from South Africa. "Here, give it a try. It's nothing more than a few mental exercises." Minutes later he saw the telltale movement that confirmed the brain defragmenter program had been uploaded successfully and he knew he would be able to put the Professor under the next day and give him some instructions. He managed to fill his quota of six within the first two days and could have kicked himself for not bringing more of the consoles. There was no doubt that he could have distributed twice or three-times that number easily. "Still," he thought, "there will be other conferences in the future." ------- Once back at his apartment, Mark used the number he had for DI MacIntosh but only reached his messaging service. He asked Drew to get in touch as soon as possible and ended the call. His aches and pains had returned with a vengeance and he decided to run himself a hot bath and soak for a while. Flick had opted to drive to her own apartment to pick up some 'essentials' and to take care of some business before returning. He hoped an hour or so in the tub would help relieve the pain and soothe his still jangling nerves. Once he had the water running at just the right mix, Mark poured a generous amount of relaxing bath foam. He watched as it bubbled away under the pressure of the water falling form the taps and felt the temperature to make sure it was just how he liked it. Awkwardly stripping off his clothes, he set his mobile on the floor and lowered himself into the bath, letting his thoughts drift as the heat from the water worked its way deep into his aching muscles. He knew Flick thought he was over-reacting a bit about the incidents with the police. He himself had no doubts however, that the Dundee policeman had known he was driving the Mondeo before pulling him over. He could also picture the look of recognition on the face of the driver of the Honda Civic and he knew the man had been intent on injuring him. He had clearly believed that Mark was still behind the wheel of the Ford and his surprise had helped Mark deal with him. "Who was that bastard? Is there any connection between the attack today and what happened last night at the Buttery? Is there any connection to the Dundee police? Who the hell have I pissed off enough to warrant them trying to kill me?" he asked himself. As his body relaxed so did his mind and suddenly the vivid image of the Honda careening off of the road and down the embankment flooded his mind. Mark tried to take some deep breaths to calm himself only to feel the stabbing pain from his damaged ribs. He pulled himself up and snagged two painkillers from the bathroom cabinet and then sat down in the bath once more. "Well, rather him than me - or even worse, Flick," he thought. ------- Mark and Felicity scoured the news channels and the newspapers for any reports on the fate of the Honda Civic and its driver. Both were puzzled when they couldn't find any references to what had been a pretty dramatic crash. How could something so significant not make the news? "I told you. The police are involved in this somehow. How else could something like this be covered up?" Mark asked. Flick was still sceptical but had to admit to herself that it was difficult to see how the police wouldn't have been at least called to the scene of the crash. After that it should have been inevitable that the 'accident' would have been reported. She had no answer for the riddle and began to think that perhaps Mark wasn't as paranoid as she had first suspected. ------- The next few days saw Mark's aches and pains ease down significantly. He still looked a little like a Panda with the two black eyes that had resulted from his nose being smashed but otherwise he felt pretty good. He was able to offer his physical strength to help Felicity pack up the things she wanted to move from her apartment. His offer sparked a mini crisis however, as Flick was suddenly seized by feelings of doubt. Now that the crunch had come, now that the time had arrived to take the concrete step of actually physically moving in with him, she revisited all of her negative thoughts about his ability to commit. The things that she had told herself while waiting two weeks for him to call her returned and she became skittish. An unsuspecting Mark found matters coming to a head and himself in the firing line while they were having a lunch at the spectacular Duck Bay Marina on Loch Lomond side. The sun was beating down and they had an outside table looking down the loch towards Ben Lomond. Pleasure boats and jet-skis zig-zagged across the water and the setting really was idyllic. "Is there another place as beautiful on god's earth?" Mark asked, ignorant about what was just about to surface. "Look at that view, isn't it simply stunning? The loch, the islands out there, the mountains framing everything - it's so dramatic!" Flick's reply wasn't what he was expecting. "Mark, why did it take you two weeks to phone me after you made the offer for me to move in?" Mark wasn't stupid. He could hear the undercurrent of something in the tone of voice that Felicity was using and immediately knew something was up. "Flick, hold on, calm down. I promise you I spent those two weeks picking up the phone and putting it back down again. My hands were sweating, I couldn't think about anything else but I was just too scared to call. The morning I did call I realised that I had to, I couldn't let the chance we could be together pass just because I was so nervous you might turn me down. It took most of the nerve I had to make that call; the Hamilton thing was just an excuse. Please be gentle with me?" "I'm sorry. It's just that I'm getting cold feet about this whole move. I know you. You've not got a good record in terms of making long term commitments," Flick replied. "That's changed, baby. I'm sitting here looking out across Loch Lomond and I realise that the loch, god, the world, looks a much better place with you sitting beside me to share the view," Mark said. "Mark, how much have you been drinking?" she asked. "I'm drunk baby, but only with thoughts of you and how much I love you." Flick was stunned. Mark had just told her he loved her! This had to be another of his childish jokes. "Mark, quit fooling around. What are you looking for?" "This is serious, baby. I'm looking for you." "Oh Mark! Do you mean it? Why did you think I'd turn you down if you called me? Oh god, Mark, why did you take so long to ask me?!" Mark sighed with relief at Felicity's change in tone and she in turn realised that Mark really had been nervous about how she would respond. "This really is a magical place with the sun shimmering on the loch. I meant what I said, the thing that makes it perfect is you," Mark managed to get out. "Oh Mark! Do you really love me? You just said a moment ago that you love me!" Flick squealed, her doubts all vanishing once more. "I guess I've known that I love you for ages now but just haven't admitted it to myself. The times I've spent with you are the happiest memories I've got," Mark replied. That got him a resounding kiss and he decided he could certainly live with such attention. "So, what's changed? Why ask me to move in with you and tell me you love me now?" she asked. Mark paused for a heartbeat as he considered what to tell her. He decided telling her the truth seemed to have been working well so far and opted to open up as he never had before. "When I asked you to move in with me I thought it was an impulsive thing but the more I thought about it, the more I knew my subconscious was trying to tell me something," he started. "What do you mean?" Flick asked, a slight frown of worry appearing at his use of the word 'impulsive'. "Well, I realised that for all the night-clubs and parties I seem to go to I'm really pretty much a loner. If I had a pound for every woman that's told me I'm too frightened of commitment to ever have a serious relationship, I'd be a millionaire. "I started asking myself what I wanted out of life, thinking about where I was going. "When I look back I find it difficult to even remember the names of some of the girls I've dated and all of the happy memories I have are times I've spent with you." Flick's expression relaxed as Mark was talking, his words were music to her ears and she wondered how far he was going to go. "I don't want you to panic and I hope I'm not going too far, too soon but I started seeing images in my head of the two of us together in ten years time and it made me feel really happy," he said. "The other day when I was beaten up at the Buttery and when the car was trying to drive you off of the road I thought my heart was going to burst. I knew I loved you, my thoughts were all about you and the fear of losing you," he added. Flick took his hand in hers and squeezed it encouragingly, letting him know that nothing he had said so far was making her panic - the exact opposite was true, she was getting happier with each passing minute. "Uh hmm, when I think about us together I see what we look like in ten, twenty years time. I even see babies," Mark added nervously and glanced at her face to quickly gauge her reaction. What he saw there surprised him. Flick's expression ran from surprise, shock even, to extreme happiness in an instant and the next thing he new she squealed and threw herself onto his lap. "Are you serious?" she demanded. "You're not put off by the idea? You don't think I'm maybe going a little too far, too fast?" he asked. Flick was not to be deflected from getting the answer she wanted. "Are you serious, you've been thinking about us together and with kids?" she repeated her question. "I know it's a lot to take in, but promise me you'll at least think about it?" Mark replied. "Mark MacGhee, answer me. Are you being serious?!" Flick now demanded. With typical male insensitivity and the absence of any emotional radar, Mark couldn't understand why she was repeating her question. To him it was clear what he was saying and he didn't need to spell it out. "What?" he asked now. For Flick, she needed to hear him actually say the words. He didn't understand that the words were all important to the girl. "I just need you to tell me that you're really serious about us having a life together, a life that includes having children," she said quietly but intensely. Mark at last got the hint and replied accordingly. "Flick, I love you. I want us to try and make a life together and I would like nothing better than to plan a family with you," he said. He watched as the biggest, brightest smile lit up Flick's face. He had been worried that his thinking would alarm her, frighten her off, but he could see that certainly wasn't the case. He saw her lips twitch and a renewed, teasing sparkle gleamed in her eyes. "Isn't there something missing here?" she asked. Mark looked at her dumbly, racking his brain for a clue as to what she meant. His expression made it clear he needed some further help from her and she decided to nudge him in the right direction. "You're suggesting we live together and have kids. Isn't there something that comes before that?" she asked. The light went on in Mark's head and he was stunned. His thinking hadn't really got this far as he was sure Flick would have been overwhelmed by his drastic change in attitude to life, in particular to life with her. Flick watched his expression and knew that he had got her message. Now she was suddenly very anxious, waiting for his reaction. Mark let the idea of marriage zip round inside his head, almost as if it was setting off fireworks as his synapses fired with the very thought of it. He found he was once more smiling like a goof and realised he had something he had to do. Mark's expression grew more solemn as he gently nudged Flick off of his lap and dropped to one knee at the side of their table. "Felicity Cartwright, I've come to realise I truly love you, have loved you for a long time and just couldn't see it. You are beautiful, smart, witty and I can't stop thinking about you and I together for always. In short you are my perfect love. Flick, will you marry me?" he asked her. Tears streamed down Flick's face as she looked down at him on bended knee and holding her hand. She found she couldn't speak and watched as his face slowly started to take on a panicked expression. "Answer him! For god's sake tell him yes!" The people at the adjoining tables had all stopped talking when Mark had dropped to his knee and they were all now staring at the couple, holding their breath waiting for Flick's answer. One woman was making it clear what her advice to Flick was. "For goodness sake, dear. Put the poor man out of misery. It's obvious how much he loves you and you've done you're job - you've caught him. Now, for pity's sake, set the hook!" Her words helped Flick snap out of it and she gulped, sniffed back her tears and managed to speak. "Yes, Mark MacGhee. I love you too and I never thought we would find ourselves taking this step. But, I have no doubts any longer. If you will have me, then I would be the happiest woman on the planet to be your wife." When they heard Flick's reply all those around them cheered and applauded and a man who was clearly very well off appeared with a bottle of champagne. The cork was popped and glasses were filled. Mark was off of his knees and he hugged Flick tightly. They exchanged a deep, smouldering kiss to seal the proposal and the acceptance as complete strangers cheered and slapped them on the back. Once things had quietened down Flick reclaimed his lap and they grinned at each other and basked in the warm sunshine, the romantic scenery and the heady champagne. Felicity's doubts were gone. This was her man and they were going to make a life together. ------- Kenny was pleased when he checked his e-mail and found that he was already getting messages from his six new 'converts'. He prepared a message for each of them with instructions on how to begin spreading his brain defrag programme amongst the cream of their country's youth. There wasn't much by way of money to count yet - the educationalists weren't earning that much - but his hope was that progress over the years would bring in just as much if not more as it was with his former pupils here in Scotland. He put the finishing touches to the e-mail and was just about to send it when his mobile phone rang. Kenny swivelled in his chair in front of his PC and picked the phone up, thumbing the green key to answer the call. "Kenny, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" he heard. Kenny's expression blanked out, just as it did whenever he used the code sequence with those he had taken control of. "Listen carefully, Kenny. There are a few new things the Church needs you to change about yourself. I want you to think about other ways of making money, lots of money. In fact, making money is going to become an obsession for you from now on. Nothing else matters apart from making sure you're not caught doing it. "I want you to get rid of the last of the moral righteous shit that still seems to be floating around in your head. We talked about that some years ago and I thought you had dealt with it. It has to go, it has to go right now. Money is now your main motivation. The kids you teach and all those you control are only a means to an end - a means to make money for the Church. You will feel no guilt at using your position and the programme to exploit these people. What you're doing is for the greater glory of the Church and you will take comfort from that. "As the main controller of the Church what you're doing gives you personal satisfaction too, all of the money is what you and the Church are due. You've earned it, now is the time to really ramp things up and rake it in. You will continue to follow my instructions when I call and continue to fund the programme that I'm running for the Church. "As usual you won't remember this call but you will remember your instructions and carry them out. I want you to think about how you can make the most of all the young girls you have access to and the incredible computing skills you have to make more cash for the Church. I'm sure you can come up with something, there seems to be a hell of a lot of money in Internet porn - most of it at the young end. "Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended." Kenny ended the call and put the mobile phone down. He returned his attention to the e-mail message he had been about to send and made a modification to it. A thought had occurred to him - a thought that each of the six educationalists were eminent people in their own countries and that they each worked for large institutions. He gave instructions for each of them to supply him with details of the computer systems their organisations used and to include access codes and passwords. For some reason it had suddenly become important to Kenny to have access to a number of different computer servers around the world. He wasn't sure yet why he needed it but he just knew the availability was something that was going to prove useful in the near future. ------- Drew MacIntosh was a busy man and he knew he was falling behind in any number of things. He had noted down the message from the freelance journalist, Mark MacGhee, three days before but was only now getting round to returning the call. MacGhee's voice had sounded different somehow. It was difficult to put his finger on it - maybe a note of fear? Whatever. He decided he could spare the journalist a little time now that he had tied up his latest murder investigation. He lifted the handset of the phone on his desk and flicked through the rolodex to find the journalist's number. His call was answered on the third ring. "Mark? It's Drew MacIntosh returning your call," he said. "We need to meet up. I think I've stirred something or someone up a little too much and things have been getting a bit hairy," the journalist responded. Drew's antennae twitched immediately. He guessed MacGhee had continued to poke around the story that he had handed to him and that meant there could be something breaking in relation to the Hamilton brothers. With that in mind he quickly decided he could afford to give the journalist some of his time. "Okay. I could probably see you this afternoon. How about the same place as last time?" Drew offered. "Fine. What time?" Mark asked. "About three would suit me," Drew replied. "Three it is. I'll see you then," Mark said. Once the call was over Drew felt his interest quicken. He had put the Hamiltons on the back burner given everything else that he had on the go but he knew they were big players and if he could get a line on them it would be well worth giving MacGhee an hour. ------- The Hamilton brothers had received an update from the 'listening station' outside Mark MacGhee's apartment and they knew that the journalist was still persisting with his investigation of them, despite knowing that someone was onto him. A lot of money had changed hands to keep the crash of one of their clan members out of the news and a number of policemen were now considerably better off for having agreed to hush the whole affair up. The driver was severely banged up and currently recovering in Perth Royal Infirmary. The wreck of the Honda Civic had been salvaged and quietly disposed of and the brothers were angry that their plans hadn't borne fruit as yet. "I don't like it, he should be out of the picture or at the very least he should have got the message by now. Instead of backing off it looks as if he's getting the police involved. What do we know about MacIntosh?" Roddy asked his brother. "A bit of a hard ass," Duncan replied, "he's got a reputation for sinking his teeth into something and not letting go." "Fuck! That's all we need, super cop coming into the picture," grumped Roddy. "Look, just give me another couple of days and I'll get rid of the journalist," Duncan promised. "A couple of days might be too late, bro. He's meeting the cop this afternoon and who knows what information he might be passing on. If MacIntosh gets interested we could find ourselves coming under the microscope. I don't know about you but I can do without a determined copper following my every move," Roddy snarled. "Okay, okay. I'll take care of it but we can't rush it and end up with another botched job," Duncan said. "Make sure it's done and no mistakes this time, do the job properly," his brother growled. ------- Drew made his way through the tea-room at the Burrell museum and spotted MacGhee sitting at a table. He wasn't alone and Drew found himself sizing up the striking blonde woman who was sitting with the journalist. She was certainly a looker and she was turning heads throughout the room. Drew was sure a few men had already had their shins kicked by annoyed partners as they stared at the blonde and openly drooled. Drew smiled to himself at the thought then frowned as he wondered what MacGhee was playing at in bringing someone with him. He pulled out a chair and joined the couple. Drew noticed the fading bruises around Mark's eyes and nose and wondered what had happened to the journalist. "DI MacIntosh let me introduce Felicity Cartwright, or Flick to her friends," Mark started. "A pleasure to meet you, Flick," said the policeman as he reached across the table and shook her small and delicate hand. "I know we normally meet alone together but Flick has been in the middle of the things I need to share with you," Mark explained. Drew simply nodded to show that he wasn't too upset at the departure from how they normally played their meetings. He remained quiet to encourage the journalist to start his story. "After we last met I decided that I would have a look into the Hamilton's school years to see if there was anything of interest. You told me that you didn't have the time to go that far back if you remember. "I tried to get an interview with the head teacher at their school but he wasn't interested. I also did some work on the Internet and found some unusual exam results for Glebe High School in the years the brothers attended. "I decided that I would go up to Dundee to snoop around a bit and see what I could find. That's when things started to get 'interesting'. I tried to get information out of some of the teachers at the school without any luck. Flick met up with one of the local politicians and also drew a blank. But on my way back to Glasgow I was stopped for speeding." "There's nothing unusual or interesting about that," Drew suggested. "Drew, I was doing three miles over the speed limit!" MacIntosh's eyebrows raised at this. It was reasonably common knowledge that the police rarely pulled anyone one over unless they were doing at least ten percent over the posted limit. That should have meant that Mark would have had to have been driving at sixty-six miles an hour before anyone would have paid any notice to him. "Still, it could happen. Maybe someone just had a quiet day at the office and needed to get their stats up," he thought to himself. Mark continued with his story. "I took Flick out to dinner at the Buttery that night and someone jumped me in the toilets and gave me a good working over. I was told to keep my nose out." Drew interrupted the journalist's flow to ask a question. "Did you report this?" he asked. "No. But I did go to the hospital and they will have records of treating me," Mark replied, thinking that the policeman was questioning the truth of his story. "Mark, I believe you were beaten up. What I don't get is why you didn't report it to the police," Drew explained. "Well, to be honest I was worried about the warning. I didn't really have much to report anyway. I had no broken bones and I didn't see the person who attacked me as he jumped me from behind. "Anyway. The next day I had to go back to Dundee to show my documents at the police station in connection with the speeding offence. I thought maybe the Porche was too flashy and that's why I'd been stopped in the first place so I drove my Mondeo. "Just outside of Dundee I was pulled over again and by the same policeman who had booked me the day before. I swear to you Drew that he knew it was me driving the Ford before he stopped me, I could see it in his face. There was no surprise when he approached the car and saw me." "Perhaps he just didn't recognise you. I'm sorry to damage your ego, Mark but when you stop people all day for a living one face looks pretty much the same as the next," Drew suggested. "He knew me! He told me he'd stopped me because I had a faulty tail-light and then let me off. When I had the car checked out at a garage there was nothing wrong with it. Then when I was in the police station someone smashed the tail-light while my car was in the police station car park!" Drew did think that that was unusual and out of place. "Didn't they catch it on CCTV?" he asked. "Hah! Exactly! I asked and the duty officer blew me off, wasn't interested. Now, here comes the scariest bit. I had the taillight fixed and then tried to get into Glebe High School to doorstep the head teacher. Some old battleaxe put paid to that. By this time I was worried about how many penalty points I had on my license so I asked Flick to switch cars with me for the return journey to Glasgow. "On the way back somebody tried to purposefully run the Mondeo off of the road. I saw him ram the Ford while they were both doing sixty-miles an hour," said Mark. Drew's whole attitude changed and he was suddenly leaning in closer to the table, very interested in Mark's story indeed. "I had to save Flick so I sped up and drew alongside the driver of the other car. Drew, I'm absolutely positive that he thought I was at the wheel of the Ford. I can still picture his look of surprise when he turned round and saw me in Flick's Audi. I chose that moment to slam into him and force him off of the road." "What did the police say?" Drew asked. Mark's face grew red and he glanced at Felicity. "We didn't stop. Drew, I wasn't sure whether the police were involved. I'd been stopped twice in two days and had my car smashed up in a police station car park. I wasn't taking any chances. The fact that there have been no news reports of the smash suggest to me that I was right not to," Mark answered. "You've just told me that you deliberately ran someone off the road and that you failed to stop afterwards. By rights I should be arresting you," Drew said. "I called you as soon as I got home. It wasn't that I was trying to avoid taking responsibility for what I did, more that I couldn't be sure I would get a fair hearing at the scene. It's not my fault that it's taken you three days to return my call," Mark blustered. Drew scrutinised the journalist. He had certainly grabbed his attention with his story and now Drew replayed the details in his head. If what MacGhee was saying was true, it really was unusual that nothing had made the news. When taken together with the beating and the warning that he had received there was definitely something going on. "Look, let me make a few discreet enquiries to see what I can find out. If this really was an attempt on your life then perhaps you need to be laying low for a while. Do you have somewhere you can go to get out of town for a while?" Drew asked. "I think so. Do you think it's that bad?" Mark asked. "Mark, you've just described a beating, a warning and an attempt to kill you. How bad can it get? I suspect you've touched a raw nerve with the Hamilton brothers somehow and we need to sit down and go over your movements and what you did in detail to try and pinpoint what has sparked this off. Meantime I do think it would be prudent for you to drop out of sight for a while," MacIntosh replied. "Okay, we can do that. I'll phone once we get out of town," Mark suggested. Drew agreed to that and watched as the couple gathered their belongings and said their goodbyes. He sipped his coffee as he watched them make their way towards the exit when something drew his attention. Drew noticed a man heading for the exit from the other side of the tea-room. What made him stand out to Drew was the fact that the man's focus was all on Mark. He didn't appear like a normal museum goer out for a quiet stroll. The man had one arm tight to his side and Drew saw something glinting in the light. He knew immediately what it was and what the man's intentions were. Drew exploded from his seat. "MARK! LOOK OUT! YOU! STOP! POLICE!" he screamed. Mark and Flick stopped and turned to see what the excitement was. They saw Drew barrelling through the tea-room and also another man heading towards them. Mark spotted the knife in the man's hand and immediately shoved Flick violently to one side. He grabbed the nearest chair to defend himself and his would-be attacker obviously saw his chance at a sneak attack had disappeared. With Drew closing in from behind him, the man opted to run. Mark tried to hit him with the chair but was too slow and the man was past him and off. Seconds later Drew was also past him and was running after the assailant. Mark put down the chair and rushed over to help Flick to her feet. "I'm sorry, baby but he had a knife," he tried to explain his treatment of her. Flick has seen the knife and had already realised that her man had put himself in harm's way for her once more. She hugged Mark tightly. "Mark, what is going on? People don't get attacked in the afternoon at the Burrell collection," she gasped. "I think we've just confirmed that somebody wants me out of the picture permanently," Mark replied, "I think Drew's idea of getting out of town is sounding more and more like a good piece of advice." By now the staff and other patrons of the tea-room were gathering round and asking just what was going on. Mark chose to ignore them and waited for Drew to return. When he did, he flashed his warrant card and told everyone that things were under control, the excitement was over. He pushed Mark and Flick from the tea-room and out to the car park. "He was too fast for me. I lost him when he made off into the woods. I've put out an alert for any cars in the area round the park to try and pick him up. If we needed any proof that they're serious, we just got it. Get your bags packed and get out of Glasgow, today if at all possible," Drew advised. ------- Chapter 7 Mark had a friend who owned a holiday cottage in Ratagan, a tiny village on the shores of Loch Duich at the foot of Glen Shiel in Ross-shire. He thought the remote setting would be ideal for himself and Flick to hide out in and in any event he never tired of the spectacular appearance of the peaks in the area. Despite the circumstances, Mark found his heart lifting at the prospect of some time away with Flick in one of his favourite parts of the country. He decided to keep their destination as a surprise for her, as he knew she would love it too. "You'll need to pack warmer clothes than that for where we're going," he advised Flick after looking at what she had laid out on the bed. "Remember, this is Scotland. It might be summer but where I have in mind is pretty rugged and you need to plan on walking some of the surrounding hills." "We need to drop by my apartment then so I can grab my hiking gear," Flick replied, a smile breaking out on her face at Mark's hints of where they were going. ------- Mark and Felicity's conversation was reported back to the Hamiltons within minutes. Neither of the pair had mentioned the name of the location they were heading for so Roddy and Duncan knew they would need to make sure the tail that had been following them stayed in place, otherwise they would lose track of them. The watchers had informed the brothers about the failed knife attack on the journalist and both were at a loss as to who might have carried it out. "You're absolutely sure it had nothing to do with you?" Roddy demanded. "Bro, I told you after the last effort that I would make sure there were no more slip ups. Fuck knows who else is after this guy, but I can assure you that this wasn't down to us," Duncan replied hotly. "Fantastic! Now we also need to worry about falling over somebody else - maybe they'll do us a favour and bump the journalist off and save us the trouble. Just make sure our people know there might be somebody else after MacGhee and that they keep their eyes open," said Roddy. "Of course, I'm not stupid bro." ------- Mark loaded up the Toyota Land Cruiser he had rented for the trip. The Porche was too small and the Mondeo was in for repairs following the collision with the Honda Civic. Flick's Audi was also in the bodyshop for repair but in any event it would have been too small for the trip. It was only a short journey across Glasgow to Flick's apartment and as they drew up Mark spotted a 'For Sale' sign in the window. "I didn't know you had put your apartment on the market already," he said to Flick. "Mark, that's part of what commitment is all about. I agreed to marry you and to move in with you. Why would I keep this place? It would almost be as if I was hedging my bets - you know - it might not work out with Mark so maybe I should keep my options open and keep my own place just in case. No, it's not going to be like that. I'm fully committed to it being us from now on and part of that is getting rid of this place." It only took Flick a few minutes to find warmer clothing and her hiking gear. She stowed it all in the back of the Land Cruiser and Mark then headed them out of Glasgow and Northward on the A82. The drive was a chance to let some of the tension of the past few days drain away as they passed through some of Scotland's finest scenery in the West Highlands. Neither of them noticed the car that followed each step of the way once they left Wardlaw Height Gardens. A hundred and thirty miles and three hours of driving later - passing Loch Lomond, Loch Linnhe, and Loch Lochy and eventually leaving the A82 for the A87 - Mark pulled the Toyota into the small car park of the Invergarry Hotel. "Let's have some lunch," he said, "I've eaten here before and the food's good." "How much further do we have to go?" Flick asked. "I'm not sure, perhaps another hour's drive," Mark replied. The Invergarry hotel was an old Stagecoach Inn dating back to the late 1800s. Walking inside, the pair soaked up the atmosphere created by the roaring open fire and the dark wood fixtures and fittings of the bar. "A log fire in the middle of summer! Only in Scotland," Mark joked. The hotel was clearly a family run affair and moments after they had settled at a table, a cheery woman bustled over to take their order. She handed them both a menu as she welcomed them. "Welcome to the Invergarry Hotel. As well as what's on the menu there is a 'specials' board over there with chef's selections for today. Drinks can be ordered at the bar but just tell the bar staff to put the charge together with your lunch bill," she said brightly. "Are you here on holiday?" she asked with natural curiosity. "Just passing through, we always like to take some time out to just enjoy the highlands," Mark replied, evading making any mention of their destination. Both of them glanced through the menu and Flick was surprised at how extensive it was given their relatively remote location. She opted for fresh Langoustine in garlic butter and Mark couldn't resist the fresh venison. "Would you like a drink? We are on holiday," Mark suggested. Flick laughed at his remark. "Okay, twist my arm. I'll have a gin and tonic since it's such a prefect day," she replied. Mark was only a few minutes at the bar and he returned with a tall glass filled with Gordon's gin and tonic water over ice for Flick and a pint of real ale for himself. "Are you ever going to tell me where we're actually going?" she asked him, taking her first sip of her drink. "You'll just have to trust me, but I promise you'll love it," he laughed in return. Service was brisk and friendly and it wasn't long before they had their food in front of them. Conversation dropped off as they gave the well prepared dishes the attention they deserved and both plates were soon cleared in short order. "God, I'm covered in juice and garlic butter," Flick complained as she used the bowl of water and hand towel provided to try and clean up. "Go use the ladies, I'll meet you through there in the hotel's private gardens," Mark suggested. Mark ordered some coffee and wandered outside to the gardens situated at the rear of the hotel. Rustic wooden tables and benches were set out amidst flowerbeds and tall trees cut the area off from the hotel and the nearby road. He took a seat on one of the benches and soaked up some of the warm sunshine, waiting for Flick and the coffee to appear. They spent a leisurely half-hour over coffee before settling the bill and returning to the Land Cruiser to continue their journey. It was only a further thirty-five miles to Ratagan but it was another hour of driving to negotiate the narrow, twisting road before they arrived. The road was bordered in parts by high deer fencing and they even managed to spot some of the shy red deer as they manoeuvred round the tight bends in the road. One proud stag stared down at them belligerently, the master of all he surveyed and they both laughed as he pawed at the rock he was standing on and tossed his fine head of antlers. Mark had to pull over several times to let oncoming cars past as the road narrowed to almost a single lane. At last they turned into Glen Shiel and the gently sloping sides of the glen had Flick squealing with delight at the riot of purple heather climbing both left and right. Mark aimed the Toyota up a narrow trail once they had passed through the small village of Ratagan and eventually brought them to his friend's cottage. Flick was out of the Cruiser almost before it had stopped, hopping about with excitement. In front of them was a breathtaking view down the length of Loch Duich with the mountain range the Five Sisters of Kintail away in the distance. Mark knew that the loch was a sea loch and that there was good fishing to be had. There was also some good river fishing on the Shiel. He hoped he could fit some time in for that as he found it an excellent way to relax and on his last visit he had landed some good sized Pollock and Coalfish. Peter, his friend, was sure to have fishing tackle somewhere in the cottage and Mark couldn't think of a better way of staying away from his troubles in Glasgow. While Flick was still oohing and ahhing about their setting, Mark opened up the cottage and started to unload the Toyota. The cottage was set out on two floors and was reasonably well appointed - boasting comfortable furnishings and oil-fired central heating. The sitting room had an open fireplace and the kitchen a huge old-fashioned range. Upstairs there were two double bedrooms and a bathroom with a shower fitted over the bath. Whenever Mark had stayed here before he always found it relaxing and peaceful. The most attractive feature of the cottage however, was the view from every single window. It didn't matter which room you were in, the steep, towering glory of the highland mountains and the loch was only ever a glance away. The journalist in him wanted to immediately sit down and try to do justice to the setting in words but he knew he would probably fall short so instead he just took a moment to soak it all up, a smile playing across his lips. Back down the track towards the village, a car had pulled up and inside a man was holding a pair of binoculars up to his eyes. He watched Flick still hopping about in front of the cottage and decided he had found the pair's ultimate destination. Now all he had to do was report in and somehow keep out of sight in this remote backwater while he figured out how to deal with the pair. ------- It was a relatively simple matter for Drew to identify the officer who had booked Mark for speeding, the offence being a matter of record. He decided to phone one of the Dundee detectives he was friendly with to see if he could get some background on PC MacSween. "Hi, is that Charlie? How are you doing ya lazy fat bastard?" he joked with his old friend. "I'll bet you couldn't run fifty yards these days without suffering a heart attack!" "Is that you Drew? Listen son; let me tell you I don't need to go chasing after villains. That's where you always went wrong. Use your head a wee bit more and save your legs son," DI Charlie Lafferty responded. "Excuses, excuses! You always have an answer don't you Charlie?" Drew laughed again. "Listen, I'm looking for a favour." "You know me, Drew - always happy to help an old mate, with the emphasis on old." "I've got a little something brewing down here in Glasgow and the name of one of your uniforms has come up in conversation. I wondered if you knew the guy and could give me a little background on him," Drew explained the reason for his call. "What's the name?" Lafferty asked. "PC MacSween, currently on traffic duties perhaps," Drew answered. "Young Colin MacSween? Sure I know him. Bright boy, rumour going round is that he'll make detective before too long. He's one of the new breed, smart, university graduate and he's already got an impressive rep. What's his name come up in connection with?" Drew heard his old friend's tone become more guarded and defensive. "Probably nothing really. He pulled somebody over and gave them a speeding ticket but the suggestion is that there was more to it than that. He pulled the same guy over in a different car the very next day and the allegation is that there's some kind of harassment going on," Drew now added by way of explanation. "I doubt that very much," Lafferty replied. "What's he like, Charlie? I'm guessing if he's a graduate then he's from a middle-class background?" Drew asked. "Not at all, don't let your Glasgow prejudices get in the way of the facts, Drew. His family are genuine working-class and he grew up in quite a rough area. It's a story of a boy from a poor background who worked hard and made good. Straight As at Glebe High School I believe and then on to Dundee University and an honours degree in history." Drew's antennae twitched at the reference to the school but given the already guarded responses from his old friend he decided not to pursue it with him. "Aye, you're probably right Charlie. It sounds like a genuine coincidence and somebody down here putting two and two together and coming up with five. Thanks for the background mate. Now, what have you been getting up to lately? It's been nearly a year since we last met up," said Drew. After catching up with what was new in Charlie's life, Drew hung up and contemplated what he had learned. The fact that the Dundee PC had attended Glebe High School could well be a coincidence but there were too many coincidences popping up in this case for his liking. Something smelled wrong and he was determined to get to the bottom of it. He wondered to himself once more how the knife attacker fitted-in. The man had been arrested on the outskirts of Pollock Park and identified as Jason Welsh, a lawyer with a well-known Glasgow firm. Drew had interviewed Welsh and the outcome left him with more questions than answers. The man had no criminal background and no criminal connections so far as Drew could see. His explanation of why he had been in the tearoom and why he had picked on Mark MacGhee as his intended victim also left Drew with no leads. Welsh's story was bizarre - he claimed that a voice in his head had told him where to go and what to do, singling out MacGhee for death and informing Welsh that he was the agent who would carry out the killing. He couldn't explain why he felt that he had to obey the voice - it was as if he had no other option but to do as he had been told. "I had to do it for the Church," he said when interrogated. Try as he might, Drew couldn't elicit any further detail of what the church had to do with Welsh's actions and he concluded the man was mentally ill. He ordered psychiatric assessments be carried out but apart from that one episode of apparently hearing a voice command him to kill the journalist, the shrinks couldn't find anything wrong with Welsh. On the face of it he was a young, successful lawyer on his way up with a well-respected legal firm. Neither had Drew been able to find any connections between Welsh and the other incidents involving Mark MacGhee. Welsh had attended school and university here in Glasgow and had no connections with Dundee at all so far as he could see. So, there was no apparent motive to speak of and no logical explanation for what Welsh had tried to do. Not for the first time in this case, Drew scratched his head at the puzzling facts he had to work with. Nothing seemed to add up but he knew there had to be a connection somewhere and he was determined to find it. Find it and he was sure it would lead him to the Hamilton brothers. ------- Kenny had been busy. Using the access details from his Russian convert he accessed the main computer system of the St Petersburg State University. Kenny chuckled to himself as he browsed through the system and discovered that both the former Russian President, Vladimir Putin and his successor, Dimitry Medvedev had studied at the university. Using all of his computer know-how, Kenny wormed his way deeper and deeper into the system, easily cracking administrator passwords as he went. The most difficult part of navigating was knowing the language but after that it was pretty straightforward, administrators in St Petersburg were as dumb as elsewhere - in many cases leaving the password as the default factory setting. Kenny had worked non-stop over the two-day weekend designing a web-site for what he thought might turn out to be a good money-spinner. Unfortunately it was also very illegal and liable to get him locked up for a long time if he was caught. That was why he was burrowing into the Russian system, getting right into the heart of the servers that powered it. Kenny's plan was to set the web-site up on a number of different servers around the world. That way if any police force tried to track the site down he could quickly lose them with switches and his own form of cyber booby-trap warfare. Everything was being set up using proxies and Kenny was sure no one would ever be able to trace the true source of the web-site and its content. He had contacted one of his former pupils who was now working in the banking sector and the man had supplied him with details of how to set up an offshore bank account, an account with total privacy. The bank charges for such accounts were ludicrously high but worth every penny for the secrecy and anonymity they afforded. Kenny had already established an account in the name of the Church of Cyberscience and he had watched the funds slowly, steadily, increase. Now he was determined to speed up the rate of growth and his web-site would hopefully provide the cash. Payments for access to the content would be made electronically and routed through a number of cut-outs until they finally disappeared into the offshore account. Of course, the fact that Kenny had such fun producing the content for the planned web-site was an added bonus. He had called the site Sugar and Spice and it was designed to part the world's paedophiles from their money. So far Kenny didn't have a lot of variety in terms of content - he had only had time to film three of his latest programmed young schoolgirls - but he could make up for that by way of volume at first. The important thing for the website was that all of the girls were young, the younger the better. Kenny was already ordering all of the converts he had on his database to give him a full run down on their immediate family members and near neighbours. He judged it would be relatively risk free to have them capture the images he needed and send them to him. That way he wouldn't be connected with or traced through the girls who appeared on his site. Kenny made some final fine adjustments and then began to test that all of the threads and links on the site worked as they should. The most difficult part of the coding had been in building the routines that would allow him to extract details and money from people's credit cards. He clicked on an image of a thirteen year old girl he had named Kitten for the site. The picture showed her looking nervous and shy with her head slightly bowed and one finger in her mouth. Immediately he was asked if he wanted to join the site and if so to fill out the necessary details so that a username and password could be e-mailed back to him. The screens also asked for his credit card details and informed him that he was going to be paying $49.99 per month for the privilege of membership. Once he entered the details a message appeared to inform him that his details would arrive by e-mail within a day. Kenny entered his master codes and the movie of 'Kitten' began playing. She was sitting in front of a dressing table, brushing her long black hair and smiling demurely in the mirror. The camera was set up to catch her back and also her reflection in the mirror. Kitten was wearing a simple white cotton vest and the view in the mirror showed she barely had b-cup breasts that were unfettered under the cotton top. The girl proceeded to show herself off shyly, walking round the room and posing to show off her perfect young body. She lay back on the bed and it was now obvious that she only had on a simple pair of white cotton panties that matched the vest. The garment hugged her lithe form and the camera zoomed in on the well-defined camel-toe where her sex lay hidden beneath the cotton. When Kitten flipped over onto her front, the shot was of her little bubble-butt and she proceeded to pull her panties up so that more of her flesh was on display. The film ran for six minutes and at no point was there any actual overt nudity. No peeks of bare nipples or of her little girl slit at all. The final pose showed her angelic smile and youthful figure to best advantage and a message appeared offering more detailed views of Kitten but only for platinum members. Platinum membership was a further $49.99 per month. Kenny smiled to himself. He believed the perverts of the world wouldn't be able to resist the steady stream of nubile young teens and even possibly preteens that he would be able to serve up. Word of mouth would soon do his marketing for him and he had little doubt the money would soon be rolling in. He entered another master code and accessed the Platinum member's material. Kitten was now shown dancing round the room and she began a wonderfully slow tease, eventually removing the vest and panties to put her full charms on display. The young girl still managed to retain her innocent look and Kenny was pleased with how his videoing had turned out. The viewer was left with the sense that they were catching a forbidden glimpse into the bedroom of a young teen, a young teen who was exploring her budding sexuality. The voyeuristic view allowed a vision of the girl discovering masturbation and the pleasure she could bring herself by rubbing her little slit and clit. The effect was stunning. "No doubt about it. The pervs out there won't be able to resist." Kenny thought. ------- Flick was still buzzing with excitement but Mark judged that she had calmed down enough that they could consider going out for something to eat. Despite being almost in the middle of nowhere, Ratagan boasted two decent restaurants and he knew Flick was going to enjoy his evening treat. "Get yourself ready to go out to eat woman, I'm starved," he said. "Out to eat? Where are we going to eat away out here?" she asked. Mark laughed. "We might be in the highlands my love, but civilisation has managed to intrude a little. There's actually two really good restaurants down in the village and I took the trouble to book a table for us while you were doing your own nature dance outside." "Oh goody! I could eat a horse," Flick replied, rushing to get ready. "How smart do I need to be?" "Smart casual, nothing too fancy," Mark answered. Thirty minutes later they walked hand in hand down the hill to the village and Mark steered them to Grants at Craigellachie. The restaurant was in an old, delightful two-storey brick built structure, all whitewashed on the outside and with chimneys atop the gables that made up the side walls. The entrance jutted out from the main building and even had its own little shingled roof. Inside, the main seating area of the restaurant proved to be in a large conservatory that had obviously been added to the building in recent times. The design was perfect for exploiting the setting however, with the large windows affording views of the summer sun setting over the distant hills and Loch Duich itself. The menu was extensive and every dish included some locally sourced produce - sea and shellfish, rabbit and venison. Mark found it a little too 'busy', a little too pretentious but he knew that Flick would love it and he wasn't disappointed by her reaction. "Ooohhhh! Look at all this, I can't be expected to choose. I can't make my mind up, everything sounds fantastic! Mark, you're going to have to order for me and make sure you order something different for yourself so I can have a taste of yours too," she said excitedly. Service was relaxed rather than slow and the couple enjoyed the leisurely meal and each other's company in the glorious setting. Sharing a bottle of Australian Cabernet Shiraz helped them both mellow out quite nicely and soon the conversation turned to their plans together. "So, what are we going to do with ourselves now that you've offered to make an honest woman out of me?" Flick asked with a twinkle in her eye. "Well I've got some ideas I want to share with you to see what you think," Mark replied. "Go on then, tell me what you've got in mind," she said. "Okay. First off, when we get back to Glasgow we need to go shopping to buy you an engagement ring to kind of make things official. "I don't know what you're dream wedding would be like so you'll need to tell me what you want so I can make sure it's a day to remember. I want my girl to have everything she asks for to make the wedding just perfect. "After that I've been thinking about our future together. Given the job each of us do there's no real need to live in the city, we could easily work from home. That home could be somewhere that gives us a better quality of life than the big city can offer and I don't see why we shouldn't look to take advantage of that. "We both love the highlands and the outdoor life and I couldn't think of a better environment to hopefully raise our future children in. So, I was thinking that we could buy a place, maybe somewhere in Argyll. The commute into Glasgow would only be an hour or so and that means we could still meet with clients or sources when we needed to. "I think I could be very happy in the West Highlands with my princess," Mark finished. He could see that Felicity had a far-away look in her eye as she was obviously picturing what he had described. "Are you sure? I mean what about all the clubbing you do now? What about all of our friends?" she asked eventually. "I'd happily give all of that up in a minute. If we buy a big enough place then we can treat all of our friends by having them stay over for weekends, there's no need to cut ourselves off from them." "Would the house be in a village or out on its own?" Flick asked next. "I was thinking somewhere near a village but not in one. Somewhere that has a parcel of land and preferably on the shores of a good-sized loch so we can fish and just enjoy the view. The land would let me grow some fruit and vegetables - I've always fancied doing that ever since I was a kid," he replied. "It sounds perfect, let's do it," said Flick. "What about the wedding?" asked Mark. "I don't want anything too big or too fancy. Honestly. The important thing about the wedding is that I'm marrying you, that we're committing to each other and that should be the focus. Surrounding that with too much glitz and ceremony would somehow take away from that and I'd rather we saved the money a big wedding would cost and use it for buying the dream home you've just described." Mark was surprised by Flick's response but he could see in her face that she meant every word. A big fancy wedding wasn't what she wanted, what she wanted most of all was to be married to him. "I'd be happy if we just had a small wedding in a registry office with our family and a few friends. In fact, having a small wedding would allow me to have what I really want most of all," Flick now added. "What's that?" Mark asked. "To be married as quickly as possible! Within the month if we can manage to arrange it," Flick replied. It was a happy couple that took their time climbing the hill back to the cottage after a very enjoyable evening. On a hilltop some 300 yards away the watcher followed their progress through his binoculars and silently told himself that it would be a shame to kill the woman - she was incredibly fit looking. Once inside, Mark poured them both a nightcap and they snuggled on the sofa. The mood was languorous and cosy, as Mark softly kissed Flick's mouth and let his hand drop to her breast. She responded by groaning with lust into his mouth and he could feel her nipple harden rapidly beneath his palm. "Ooohhh Mark, fuck me, please fuck me. I'm sooo hot right now," she moaned. "Tonight, princess I think I'd rather make love to you than simply fuck," he replied. The look in Felicity's eyes told him that he had scored some major points with his answer and he returned to the task of making the woman he loved feel good. ------- As a detective, Drew had official access to manpower resources that Mark MacGhee didn't. He had put in some time on a number of cases he had running but found himself being drawn back to the puzzle that was the Hamilton brothers. Now he was looking through a report compiled at his request that showed school exam performance levels that were significantly out of step with national averages. The report was mercifully short and it didn't take Drew long to absorb what was in it. There were three schools that had each achieved almost twenty percent higher successes than the national average over a period of years. He already knew about Glebe High School in Dundee and now he had two other names to think about. The uniformed policeman (or woman) who had put the report together had been very thorough and Drew read the note to the effect that there was something else significant about the three schools' results. The period where each school had been successful ran for a number of years but what was interesting was that when looked at together, there was a pattern. The keen eye of the report writer had analysed the periods and spotted that if an adjustment was made to take account of children in the junior years moving through the school - each school seemed to have benefited from a relatively short burst of high performance, no more than a few years. What's more, the periods didn't overlap and at a stretch could even be described as concurrent. The author concluded that it was possible that the underlying reasons for the improved performance could conceivably have moved between the three schools in turn. One final point noted in the short report was that there was another statistical aberration in Scotland's exam results over a similar period covered by the performance of the three schools. The results of the best performing children from all schools across Scotland also showed a significant leap over historical levels but this time the author didn't draw any conclusions from the figures. Drew stared at the figures in front of him and tried to draw his own conclusions. If the same cause underlay the performance of each of the three schools it was just possible that some specific actions had led to the improvement. That suggested a human intervention - most likely by a teacher or teachers. Perhaps if he looked at the teaching staff in the three schools over the period in question he might find some links or commonality. Drew lifted his phone and dialled an internal number. "Frank? I've been looking at the report on school exam results that you organised for me. Firstly can you pass on a big 'well done' to whoever put it together, it's a really good piece of work." "Thanks, Drew. I'll make sure PC Wilson gets that feedback, she's a smart girl so she is." "You know what happens in life, Frank. When somebody finds out you're good at something then they just keep asking you to do more. That's why I'm calling, could you ask your girl to look into something else for me?" Drew asked. "Sure, Drew. She enjoyed the last one. What are you looking for now?" "I'm interested in cross referencing the teaching staff in the three schools she's picked out to see if there are any names that crop in more than one of them," Drew explained. "Okay, I'll get her on it as soon as possible," Frank replied. When Drew's phone rang barely ten minutes later he was surprised to hear Frank's voice on the other end of the line. "I told you she was good, didn't I? It seems that PC Wilson had the same thought as you did and has already been cross-referencing the names of the teachers at all three schools over the years concerned. I'll let her tell you what she's found, she's on her way up to see you now," he said. "That's great, Frank. Thanks again mate," Drew replied. There was a knock at his door just as he placed the receiver back in its cradle and he looked up to see a young uniformed officer. "DI Macintosh?" she asked, clearly a little nervous. "Come in, come in. I promise I don't bite, despite what the station rumour mill might say," Drew laughed. "Umm, PC Sheila Wilson, sir. Sergeant MacCardle told me you were looking for something else following the analysis I did for you on the school exam results. Err, I was already looking at what it is I think you want so I've got it here with me," she said "Excellent! It's good to see there are still some people around here who can show a wee bit of initiative. What have you got for me Sheila?" Drew asked, signalling for the PC to take a seat in front of his desk. She placed a thin folder down on his desktop and flicked it open, drawing out a single A4 sheet of paper and sliding it across the desk towards him. "There's only one name that crops up in connection with more than one of the three schools - Kenny MacGovern. Not only has he taught at all three schools but when you plot the dates he was at each of them then it's a perfect match for the periods when performance improved," said the PC. "What do we know about him?" Drew asked with excitement. "Not a lot. Currently a head teacher after quite rapid promotion. He teaches computing by the way and from what I can gather he's a bit of a super-geek." "It's a great start, excellent work Sheila. Now all I have to do with it is find out what connection if any this MacGovern has to the Hamiltons," said Drew. ------- Kenny was completely unaware that detective MacIntosh had stumbled across his name and was even now beginning to look at him and his past much closer. He would have been surprised at how easily a connection had been made to him - it was clear his plans hadn't been as well thought out as he had imagined. That wasn't to say that Kenny wasn't worried - he was. The programming of the Hamiltons made it a sure thing that they were reporting everything that was going on back to him. The brother's latest update was what had Kenny worrying. Duncan had e-mailed to say that the journalist still wasn't out of the picture yet but plans were in hand to take care of him. The message also advised that someone else had tried to attack MacGhee and that had been witnessed by the men who had been tailing the journalist. Duncan had no idea who this other man was but advised Kenny that the attempt had been botched. It was this final piece of news that had Kenny biting his bottom lip. He had no idea why anyone else would want to kill MacGhee but he didn't believe in coincidences and felt a sense of foreboding. A quick call and the use of his trigger phrase on another policeman, this one based in Glasgow, soon elicited the information that a man had been arrested for the botched attack. Kenny was also given the information that Welsh couldn't explain his actions to the police. Kenny searched his own database for the name Jason Welsh and blinked several times when the entry flashed up on his screen. Welsh was one of those he had met at a summer school many years before - an exceptionally bright student at the time and he had gone on to become a lawyer according to the details Kenny had. "This is no coincidence, but how did someone manage to get one of my 'converts' to try and kill a man? "The fact he can't remember why he did it suggests the trigger phrase has been used but how could that be possible? Unless ... shit! Does somebody have access to my database? No way! No fucking way could anybody get into my system without me knowing about it. And anyway, how would they know what the trigger phrase is and how to use it? No, it's got to be something else," he thought to himself. Kenny sat back and wracked his brains to try and identify a possible answer to what was going on but try as he might, he couldn't think of a scenario where somebody could get access to all the necessary information to control one of his people. "That's even worse. The only conclusion I can come to is that I'm the only one capable of ordering Jason Welsh to kill the journalist. Either I'm going batty or somebody is controlling me!" Kenny said this last thing to himself as a joke but as soon as the thought ran through his head he felt himself tense up and then a shiver ran down his spine. The idea that someone was controlling his own actions would explain all of the events and if the controller was ordering him to forget all contact then he knew from his own experience that that would work. Almost in a panic now, Kenny began scribbling ideas down on a scrap-pad as to how he might be able to test out his theory. If he was being controlled - confirming that would be the first step in identifying who was behind it and then he could decide what to do. These thoughts and having a plan of action helped dampen the sense of panic and Kenny focused on what needed to be done. ------- Chapter 8 Kenny stared at the scrap-pad in front of him and thought about how he could try to find evidence that someone else might be controlling his former pupils by somehow having control of himself. The first thing that occurred to him was to simply send a Church of Cyberscience message to all those on his database and ask them to report all activities the Church had asked them to carry out over the past year. His logic told him that the former pupils wouldn't be able to differentiate between orders that he had consciously sent and any that he might have issued while being controlled by another. But something might stand out to his own eyes. It took him half an hour to compose a message that included the trigger phrase and that ordered all of his 'converts' to set down the Church activities they had undertaken recently. He sent the message in the knowledge that it would be a massive task to wade through the detail in the responses but he knew it was a job he had to do. His second thought was to take the advice of the old adage 'follow the money' and he immediately began to audit the accounts of the Church to see if there was anything out of the ordinary there. He had never felt it necessary to look at the bank statements too closely before but now he focused on any expenditure or outgoings to make sure they were all legitimate. Kenny picked up something very quickly, something that shouldn't be there at all. There was a payment going out of the Church's account every month to another bank account. The payment wasn't huge, only £2,000 per month, but it wasn't something that he had set up, at least not consciously. He now had his first hard evidence that his theory was accurate. It seemed that someone was somehow controlling his actions. Kenny found his hands were shaking. "Fuck! Somebody has found out my secret and is using it against me. How could this fucking happen? Who? Who could be doing this? How did they find out?" Kenny stood and paced around the room, wringing his hands nervously as he thought about the trouble he could well be in. The first priority now had to be to find out what was being done to him, to try and bottom out the extent of the problem. He decided he would need to install some surveillance equipment around his computer room - with both audio and visual recording capability. "I need to find out more about what's going on. Hopefully I can record myself and catch any future contacts. If I can, then I'll be able to play the footage back to try and identify who is behind this and what else they've got me doing. After that I need to do something to take back control." ------- Kenny's secret controller was quietly satisfied with how things were going. Ordering MacGovern to set the lawyer to kill the journalist had admittedly been a rash move but not one that would be repeated in a hurry. A lesson had been learned and in future the dirty work would be left to those with experience. The Hamiltons would simply have to deal with MacGhee as Kenny had ordered them to. The satisfaction he was feeling came from how well Kenny seemed to be following the last set of instructions that had been given to him. He had already shared the details of the web-site he had designed and the projections for how much money it would generate. Based on a membership of only five thousand, Kenny's web-site could rake in three million pounds a year, six million a year if the members all took up the Platinum option. The secret controller knew that the Church would need to generate much more income if the money that was being creamed off was to increase. Only small amounts could be siphoned-off currently without raising suspicion but if turnover was higher then the amount that could be taken each month would rise accordingly. The controller wanted more money and wasn't too fussy about how Kenny raised it. ------- The next few days were something of a holiday for Mark and Felicity. He found several large beachcaster rods in the cottage and proceeded to teach Flick how to cast out into the loch and to appreciate the relaxation that fishing was all about. Mark was using Mackerel and Razor-fish as bait and although they weren't catching a lot of fish, the time spent in each other's company and the calming setting was just what the doctor ordered. The troubles and danger of only a few days before were almost completely forgotten as the pair found their relationship deepening with the quality time they had together. The only sour note was when Mark checked in with DI MacIntosh to let him know they were safe and hidden away. Drew passed on his latest information including the arrest of the man who had been intent on attacking them in the museum tea-room. That news brought back the reality of their predicament and left Mark worried that they were no closer to identifying who was trying to kill him. The other information Drew gave him was more encouraging however, and Mark was quick to share it with Flick. "Drew says that he's found two more schools that have had 'golden years' periods over the past wee while," he said. "Oh really! I thought you asked me to look into that?" Flick replied. "Flick, you can't tell the police what to investigate and what not to. Anyway, he's saved you the bother. What's more is that he's found a link between the three schools. Do you remember the name of the teacher that the councillor in Dundee gave you?" he asked. Flick's brow furrowed as she concentrated on trying to bring the name to mind but at last gave up and shook her head. "Kenny MacGovern?" Mark prompted. "Yes! That's the name," Flick confirmed. "Well, Drew says that the same Kenny MacGovern has taught at all three schools and that his time in each school corresponds to the periods where their performance peaked." "Isn't it a bit much to think that one teacher could be responsible for a whole school raising its performance twenty percent above the national average?" Flick asked. "I don't know, but it's too much of a coincidence for there not to be some connection between them. Drew's still digging so he might come up with something more. "Anyway, enough of that. Do you fancy some more fishing? It's a bit overcast outside but that kind of weather can often be ideal for fishing, no glare on the water to drive the fish down deeper," said Mark. "No, I think I'll pass this time. I enjoyed it yesterday, but there's a lesson in what detective MacIntosh has done, we've been too quick to forget just how much trouble we might be in, this place is just too beguiling. "I've left some of this stuff too long and maybe I should spend some of today doing some work on the Internet. We still haven't looked into the background on the purchase of the casino so I think I'll put in a few hours on that. You go and enjoy yourself though, I know you really like the peace and quiet. Try and catch us something nice for dinner," said Flick. Mark proceeded to gather together the various bits of tackle and bait and gave Flick a parting kiss as he made his way down towards a spot on the loch-side that he had eyed the day before. Felicity made herself a cup of tea then set up her laptop computer and logged on to the Internet. Her first search was using google to find out details of the name of the casino and its address. With that information she accessed the web-site for Companies House - the body that all UK companies had to register with. The web-site had a search facility built into it and it was a relatively simple matter for Flick to enter the name of the casino and call up details of its incorporation. The information provided was pretty scant however, simply the name of the company, its registered address and the date of incorporation. The web-site advised that more details could be obtained but only by paying a fee. Flick dug out her credit card and entered details so she could access the premium service and that enabled her to find out that the sole owners of the casino were the Church of Cyberscience. "Who or what in the name of hell is the Church of Cyberscience?" she pondered out loud. Returning to google, Flick entered 'Church of Cyberscience' and hit the enter button. There were 930 'hits' and she began to work her way through them but it quickly became clear that none of them was a match and none of them gave her any clue about an organisation called the Church of Cyberscience. All Flick knew was that this was an organisation connected to the Glasgow criminal gangs and which now owned a Glasgow casino. Taking a chance, she picked up her mobile phone and keyed in DI MacIntosh's number - perhaps the detective had some knowledge about the Church of Cyberscience? She was surprised when her call reached Drew rather than his answering service. "Hi, Drew?" she queried. "Yes. Who is this?" MacIntosh asked. "It's Flick, you know, Felicity. I'm Mark's girlfriend, we met at the Burrell Museum." "Of course, I'm sorry for not recognising the voice. How are things with you and Mark? No trouble I hope?" Drew asked. "No, we're both fine. I was hoping you could help me out though." "What can I do for you?" he asked. "I've been trying to dig up something on the Hamiltons. So far I've managed to find out who the registered owners of the casino are but that's where I'm stuck. According to Companies House the casino was bought by an organisation called the Church of Cyberscience. I've never heard of that and I can't find anything about it on the Internet. I was wondering if you've heard of it?" "The Church of Cyberscience? No. I'm sure I've never heard of it. It's the kind of name that would stick in your mind isn't it? It sounds a wee bit unusual, you know - a church owning a casino? They don't normally go together," said Drew. The pair passed a few more minutes chatting before Flick disconnected the call, none the wiser. She realised that she had reached a dead-end and decided to change tack completely by running a google search using the name 'Kenny MacGovern' and 'Scottish teacher'. This search was more fruitful and she was soon reading a number of articles about the teacher. He seemed to be very well regarded in education circles and had risen to the post of head teacher while still young. Flick found that he had been involved in a number of national initiatives to improve Scottish education and had also represented Scotland at some prestigious events internationally. One site she found was particularly interesting to Felicity. She stumbled over a web-site called 'Ratemyteacher' where pupils basically had the opportunity to post messages giving an assessment of their teacher. The site allowed them to 'name and shame' and even allowed them to enter a numerical rating for the teacher's performance. Searching the site using Kenny MacGovern's name let Flick see that he had the highest rating of all of the teachers in Scotland. The number of posts against his name was also incredibly high compared to other teachers and as Felicity browsed through some of them she saw that they were all really positive and complimentary. None of MacGovern's pupils seemed to have a bad word to say about him. Randomly selecting a few other teacher's names, she found that this was highly unusual. Each teacher seemed to have at least one or two pupils who hadn't enjoyed their time in class and some of the messages posted were quite poisonous. Somehow Kenny MacGovern had avoided that. "Either he really is the best teacher since Socrates or there's more to Mr MacGovern than meets the eye," Flick thought to herself. Mark's return interrupted her musing and she was startled to see that she had been in front of her computer for nearly four hours without a break. That realisation brought with it another, her back was aching from having been hunched over the screen for so long. She stood and stretched, trying to ease the stiffness that was there. Mark held up three good-sized Cod with a grin of triumph. "See the hunter return with his spoils!" he said with a laugh. "Once again I demonstrate my prowess - the hunter will be able to feed his family." Flick laughed at his cave-man antics and took the fish from him. "Okay mighty hunter, let the little woman clean these and see if she can make a decent meal out of them. I didn't realise just how hungry I am." "Find anything interesting?" Mark asked as Flick passed him on the way to the kitchen. "Lots about Kenny MacGovern," she replied over her shoulder. "I also found out that the casino is actually owned by something called the Church of Cyberscience." "What the hell is the Church of Cyberscience?" Mark asked. Flick's answer carried from the kitchen. "No idea. I couldn't find anything on it at all other than its name in the register at Companies House. I even called DI MacIntosh but he's never heard of it either." "Maybe it's time I called in a few favours," said Mark. "I didn't get my reputation for being an ace investigative journalist without having a network of contacts. It's possible I might know somebody who can help us here." Flick's head appeared round the kitchen door. "In what way?" she asked. "First rule in an investigation - always follow the money! The purchase of the casino obviously involved a transfer of funds. I just need to find out where this Church of Cyberscience keeps its money and maybe we can find out a little bit more about its activities," Mark replied. "And just how are you going to do that? I mean, banks don't just give out details about their customers to anybody you know." "I told you, I've got contacts," Mark responded with a knowing smile. Mark dug out his mobile phone and scrolled through the contacts he had stored away. He highlighted one and pressed the send key on the phone. Flick was left hearing only his side of the conversation. "Mike? Is that you? Hi, it's Mark MacGhee." "Oh, you know, the usual. Just trying to earn a buck." "Yeah, I'm working on something at the moment actually. That's why I called, I'm looking for a wee favour." "Mhmm, the usual rates apply. Look, there was a casino purchased in Glasgow recently. The buyers appear to be an outfit calling itself the Church of Cyberscience. Do you think you can find out which bank the funds transfer came from?" "How long do you think that will take?" "Okay, you've got my number. Ring me as soon as you get it." "Who was that?" asked Flick. "Mike Marchmont, one of my sources - for a fee of course. He's a financial analyst with one of the big investment banks. If anyone can find out where the funds to buy the casino came from, he's the man. He thinks it might take him a day or two," Mark replied. ------- The watcher on the hill had been in place for three days now and had a good idea of how he was going to solve the problem of killing his targets while making it look like an accident. He had to admit that he had enjoyed spying on the beautiful blonde and wouldn't have minded spending some quality time alone with her himself. It was a shame she wouldn't be around much longer. He watched now as the couple walked hand-in-hand down the hill towards the village, no doubt going out for something to eat or a few drinks. That had been the pattern each night and he knew he had at least two hours to do what he needed to. Once he had watched them turn down the hill towards the village, he quickly got up and made the trek across to the cottage and circled round to the rear. It took only a few minutes to confirm all of the details he had picked out through his binoculars. Ten minutes later, the watcher was satisfied and he quickly made his way back to the vantage point he had picked out to wait for the right moment to put his plan into action. He pulled out his mobile phone and rang Duncan Hamilton. "Boss? It's me. Everything's looking good and I'm planning on dealing with the nuisance tonight," he said. "Good. Remember, no witnesses and no slip-ups!" Duncan replied. The watcher shivered at the naked threat. He knew what would happen to him if he fucked up now. ------- Mark and Flick left the pub and walked slowly up the hill towards the cottage, pulling their jackets around them to ward off the relative chill of the summer night. The food in the pub had been plain but tasty and after a few drinks the couple were relaxed and happy together. "So, what is it about me that's got you deciding I'm the one?" Flick fished for a compliment. Mark paused to think about that. He knew the question was a potential minefield and wanted to make sure he avoided putting his foot in it. "Well, everything," he replied. "I like the fact that you're independent. I like your sense of humour and the fact that you're a very smart girl. I love your smile, especially when it reaches your perfect blue eyes. "I like the way your neck is so graceful and kissable and your ears are just adorable. I like the way you walk - maybe glide is more accurate. I like the fact that you're compassionate and that you care about things in the world more than you care about yourself and your own needs. "I like the fact that you're practical and use common-sense. I like the way you treat people with respect. Most of all though I especially like your tight butt!" he laughed. Felicity punched him lightly on the arm then pulled him close to her side, demonstrating physically that his answer had been a good one. "I love everything about you princess, you're my perfect mate" he added for good measure and accepted Flick's kiss as a thank you for his compliments. The walk back to the cottage seemed to pass in the blink of an eye as they were so wrapped up in their feelings for each other. Mark unlocked the door and turned on the light then made his way to the drinks cabinet to prepare a last drink for them both. Making his way into the kitchen, he retrieved some ice from the little freezer compartment of the fridge and put four cubes into a glass for Flick. He poured some gin from the green Gordon's bottle and then topped up the glass with Schweppes tonic water and handed the glass to her before pouring himself a small malt whisky. "You know, after all those nice tings you said about me, I'm not sure that I'm in the mood for a nightcap just yet. I rather think that I'd prefer it if you took me upstairs right away and walked the talk so to speak," Flick said with a gleam in her eye. "That's something else I love about you," said Mark. "You're so direct when you want to be, right to the point and no messing about." Mark put down his drink and stood, taking Flick's hand in his own and pulling her to her feet. He wrapped his arms around her waist and let his hands slide down to cup the firm cheeks of her ass while he gave her a smouldering kiss to let her know he was in the mood too. When they broke the kiss Felicity caught her breath and let her eyes communicate how she was feeling. Wordlessly they held hands and made their way upstairs to the bedroom where Mark stopped her and took a moment to appreciate just how beautiful she was. "You know, all those things I said when we were walking home were true. You really are perfect, princess and I don't know why it's taken me so long to realise it," he said. "Enough with the talk, I need more action big guy," Flick responded. ------- The watcher was alert, the tension and nervous energy supplied by the adrenaline running through his system keeping him keyed up. The bedroom light in the cottage had gone out over an hour ago and he felt sure that the couple would be asleep now. Still, he decided to wait another half an hour to be safe. The time passed slowly but eventually he decided to move and crept silently down from his hilltop. Earlier he had examined the low shed that housed the oil-fired generator that was the source of the cottage's electricity supply and also the assembly for the oil-fired central heating. The shed abutted the wall of the cottage and he had been pleased to see that his observations from the hill opposite had been accurate - the shed was close enough to the wooden eaves above for his purposes. The watcher pulled on a pair of surgical gloves and opened the shed door. By the light of his small torch it was a simple matter to locate and fracture the main fuel inlet pipe to the generator. There were a number of oily rags lying on the floor of the shed and he added to these with a number of other rags he had found in his car. He was satisfied that there would be enough material in the little shed to feed the fire he planned on starting, a fire that would lick upwards and set the wooden eaves alight. His period observing the cottage had confirmed that the couple slept in a bedroom on the other side of the house. With just a little luck the fire would catch hold well before they became aware of it. The watcher left the fuel to leak out and circled the cottage. He quietly let himself in through the unlocked front door and picked up the set of keys that had been carelessly left on a small table in the hallway. Going back outside, he found the correct key and quickly locked the door. Moving quickly, he returned to the rear of the cottage and locked the back door too. If the couple did wake up before the fire got to them then they wouldn't be able to get out through the doors. Slowing them down in that way might just mean the difference between success and failure tonight. Returning to the little shed he confirmed that the rags on the floor were now well soaked with fuel. He pulled a cigarette lighter from his pocket and flicked to produce a flame. The watcher made sure the rags caught then closed the door and turned to make his way back to the hilltop. ------- Something brought Mark awake and it took him a few moments to register what it was. Through still heavy, sleep-laden eyes he realised something wasn't right about the bedroom but didn't immediately grasp what was wrong. An acrid smell reached his nose and caught in the back of his throat and sudden understanding had him sitting bolt upright in the bed. He could see smoke seeping in under the bedroom door now and recognised it for what it was, there was clearly a fire in the cottage. He urgently shook Felicity awake. "Flick! Flick! Wake up, there's a fire. We need to get out, come on!" Felicity shook his hand off and tried to turn over, pulling the duvet tightly around herself. "Get off, Mark," she grumbled. "Flick, get up! NOW!" he screamed at her. Mark's urgency penetrated the fog of sleep and Felicity turned towards him. "There's a fire, we need to get out," Mark said again. He could see that his words had registered at last as the remnants of sleep left her eyes. Both of them scrambled from the bed and struggled into the clothes they had carelessly dropped earlier in their haste to get naked with each other. Mark walked over to the door and tentatively reached out to touch the handle with his finger-tips. There was no heat in the metal doorknob so it seemed unlikely to him that the fire was close to the door. He was still cautious however, knowing full well what could happen if an oxygen starved fire was on the other side of the door. There was a danger that opening the door could cause the fire to leap into the bedroom but the fact the handle was still cool suggested it was worth taking a risk. "Get over in that corner. I'm going to open the door and there's a possibility that we might get a fireball for our trouble," he warned. Flick hurried to comply and she watched anxiously as Mark flattened himself against the wall to the side of the door before reaching across and pulling the door open. No flames shot through the doorway but a pall of smoke did billow into the room. Mark's eyes stung and watered immediately and he coughed; struggling to breathe as the smoke caught his lungs and throat. He dropped to the floor to try to avoid the worst of it but found things no better there. Visibility in the bedroom was almost totally gone already and Mark knew they didn't have much time. He blindly groped his way round the room until he reached the en-suite bathroom. Using touch alone he managed to soak two towels with water. Holding one up to his face, he stumbled back into the bedroom and searched for Felicity. He found her huddled in the corner where he had told her to go. She was coughing and her breath rasped in her throat. "Take this and cover your mouth and nose," he managed to croak. "Hold my hand and don't let go." Mark pulled Flick to her feet and led her towards where he thought the door was. He had to move slowly for fear that he would misjudge things and end up toppling down the stairs. He could feel the heat building now as they moved along the hallway and through the smoke he could also see flames licking along at ceiling height. Mark's foot was tapping the floor in front of him, searching for the first tread of the stairs. It seemed to take an age before he finally reached it and he bent his head to croak a warning to Felicity. Each step was negotiated carefully despite the danger from the fire and Mark thought the smoke was thinning as they made their way down. He groped for the light-switch when they reached the bottom and turned it on. There was smoke in the bottom hallway, but not nearly as much as there was upstairs. Mark knew that wouldn't be the case for much longer and he pulled Flick urgently towards the front door. He pulled at the door frantically but it didn't budge. Felicity didn't understand what Mark was doing when he suddenly started scrabbling around on the little table just inside the door. She pushed past him and tried to open the door only to find out what Mark already knew - it was locked. "Can't find the keys!" Mark groaned, as the smoke noticeably thickened around them. "The kitchen door, come on!" Flick urged. "NO! The fire's on that side. Don't open the kitchen door!" Mark yelled. He ran across the room and tried to open one of the sitting room windows. It wouldn't budge and Mark realised it was secured with a little security lock. There was no sign of any keys so he grabbed a nearby dining chair and crashed it against the glass. "Shit!" he exclaimed, as the chair literally bounced off of the windowpane. "Fucking double-glazing!" Mark dropped the chair and dashed to the side of the open fireplace, stooping to pick up an iron poker with a pointed tip. He ran at the window and rammed the poker into the centre of the glass pane with all his strength but still the sealed double-glazing unit refused to smash and he stared around himself, close to panic as the smoke got ever thicker. He spied his fishing gear and dropped the poker in favour of his fishing knife, using that to try and cut through the seals on the window to breach the vacuum between the two panes of glass that was lending the unit its strength. "Stand back," ordered Felicity. Mark turned to see that she had picked the poker up from where he had dropped it. She looked a mess with her eyes swollen red and streaming and soot already smearing her face. Mark could also see her face had a determined set to it and he moved out of her way. Flick moved to the window and held the point of the poker against the glass in the bottom corner, as close to the edge as she could get it. She stood side-on to the window and made sure her hands were clear of the handle of the poker. "Hit the bloody thing as hard as you can," she gasped at Mark. There were some cut blocks of wood ready to be used in the fireplace and Mark grabbed one to use as a hammer. He swung the wood with all his might, connecting with the handle of the poker with a satisfying thunk. He was surprised when the window smashed, large shards cascading down onto the sitting room floor. Felicity took a few moments to clear the remnants of the glass from the frame and then moved to place the tip of the poker in the corner of the second pane. "Your turn to stand back," Mark ordered, the dining room chair once more in his hands. He thrust the chair legs at the remaining glass and it shattered from the blow, no longer strengthened by the sealed vacuum between the panes. Cool, fresh air streamed in immediately but a loud bang behind him heralded the fact that the fire had blasted through the kitchen door in search of the sudden increase in available oxygen. Mark could literally feel his hair begin to singe and he was thankful that Flick had once more used the poker to clear all of the remaining glass out of the window frame. He helped boost her up and over the sill before following her to safety. Flick was crumpled in a heap on the grass below the window, wheezing, coughing and struggling to draw in fresh air. Mark could see that she had cut her hands on some of the broken glass and he was also worried that they were still too close to the burning cottage. He pulled her up and dragged her further away from the building, unwrapping the wet towel from his own nose and mouth and using it to staunch the blood flowing from her cuts. Looking back, he could see flames were already licking out through the broken window and he knew they had just had a very narrow escape. He let himself fall to the ground beside Flick and tried to catch his own breath now that they were a safe distance away from the raging fire. ------- Chapter 9 The watcher crept down from his hilltop, a sense of deadly purpose written across his face. He knew the price of failure would be high and that he had to do something about the fact that the couple had escaped from the burning cottage. He also knew he still had to try to make their deaths look like an accident but believed there was still time to use the fire to his advantage. The man and woman were both lying on the grass, their chests heaving as they tried to suck in life-giving air. The watcher had a sturdy tree branch in his hands and he intended to use it to try and render them both unconscious before tossing them back into the blazing cottage. Mark and Flick were already close to passing out from exhaustion, the adrenaline rush having sapped their strength. The watcher was on them before they knew it and Mark opened his stinging eyes to see the thick branch hurtling towards his head. He rolled to the side and felt the air around his head move as the branch narrowly missed him, thudding instead into the turf at his side. Mark lashed out with both feet, catching his attacker just below the knee. The man cried out and fell to the ground. Anger and fear for Flick's safety lent Mark new reserves of energy and he leapt forward. There was no conscious thought on his part, he just acted instinctively. "UGGGGHHHHHH!" The watcher felt a white-hot pain lance through him. He gave another strangled cry and then his body went limp, Mark's fishing knife buried deep in his chest. Mark rose to his knees and looked down at the slumped body and felt the urge to attack the man who had clearly been intent on killing both himself and Flick. He lashed out with his fist, striking a vicious blow to his attackers face. "Mark! What are you doing?" screamed Flick. Mark came to his senses and crawled over to her, taking her in his arms and hugging her tightly. The bond between them had already been strong but as they shared each life threatening moment together it grew stronger and deeper. A look passed between them but no words were needed to express how they felt about each other in that moment. "Dear god, are we ever going to be safe?" Flick blubbed. "Is he dead?" "I'm not sure, but if he isn't he soon will be!" Mark replied. He managed to free himself from Felicity's tight embrace and made his way back over to the body lying on the grass. Kneeling down, he felt for a pulse at the exposed neck and was satisfied when there wasn't one. "I'm pretty sure he's dead," he said. "Oh god. What are we going to do now?" Flick asked. "Help is only ever one phone call away as they say," Mark replied. He pulled his mobile phone from the pocket of his jeans and hit one of the speed dial buttons. "I'm sorry to phone this late at night Drew but I didn't know what else to do," he said. "What's happened?" MacIntosh snapped, clearly still half asleep. "Something woke me up and I realised the cottage we are staying in was on fire. We just managed to get out without being burned to death and then a man appeared out of nowhere and attacked me. "I had my fishing knife in my hand, I'd tried to use it to weaken the seal on the double-glazing. I swear to you that I didn't think about it, I just stabbed the guy in defence. "Drew, I'm pretty sure I've killed him." MacIntosh was stunned at this latest development. He shook himself to try and clear the cobwebs of sleep from his head and get his thought processes working properly. "Don't touch anything. Just sit tight and don't touch anything. Where exactly are you, you've never told me," he rapped out. "We're at a cottage in Ratagan, just at the foot of Glen Shiel," Mark answered, adding directions for how to find the cottage. "I'll be there as quickly as I can," Drew advised. "We can't stay here. The cottage is gone and I'm not sure this guy was on his own. Mt first priority is to make sure Felicity is safe. I'll phone you once we've found somewhere," Mark responded. ------- Drew found that he was now wide-awake. He sat up in bed and ran his fingers through his greying hair as he thought about what to do next. If Mark and Felicity were leaving the scene he wasn't sure there was much point in him rushing off to the highlands. His decision reached, Drew picked up the phone from the bedside table and dialled a number from memory. "Ronnie, don't ask me how I know but within the last hour there's been an arson attack and a death at a little village in the highlands called Ratagan. Could you contact the nearest station - it'll probably be Inverness - and make sure they get somebody onto it? I'll tell you more when I get in," he said. Drew passed on the directions to the cottage that Mark had given him and then ended the call. He dressed quickly and made his way downstairs, snagging his car keys from the hall table as he left the house and got into his car. The new developments raced through his mind as he drove and he guessed that whoever was after MacGhee must have followed him to the highlands. "Somebody really wants you dead Mark. Just what have you stirred up?" he thought to himself. Twenty minutes later, after a drive through the largely deserted nighttime streets of Glasgow, Drew parked in the station car park and made his way up to his office. During the journey he had decided that he needed to spend more of his time on the Hamiltons. He was convinced it was the brothers who were behind the attacks on MacGhee and if he didn't do something, if he didn't make a breakthrough soon their next attempt might be successful. Drew didn't want the deaths of the journalist and his girlfriend on his conscience. He spent the next hour providing his colleagues with as much detail as he could about Mark and what had happened over the past few weeks leading up to the phone call he had received earlier. The fact that someone had been killed had led to Drew's superiors contacting their counterparts in Inverness. It seemed that a team of detectives was already on its way to Ratagan and Drew confirmed he had no idea of where Mark and Felicity might be now. Once he had that out of the way he got himself a coffee from the drinks machine in the corridor and returned to his own office. He retrieved the box containing all of the papers taken during a search of Welsh's house when he had been arrested for the botched attack on Mark. Drew began to sort through the contents of the box with no idea of what he was looking for. He wasn't even sure why he had returned to Welsh, just that there was something about him that didn't add up and that bothered him. Several hours later he made his first find and it left him scratching his head. A number of Welsh's bank statements were amongst the papers and Drew scanned the itemised accounts. He took in the details of how Welsh lived his day to day life from where he spent his money - grocery shopping at ASDA/walmart apparently, petrol from the store's petrol station, monthly payments for his mortgage and utilities, and a monthly donation to the Church of Cyberscience. Drew recognised the name from his conversation with Felicity earlier. The Church of Cyberscience apparently owned the Glasgow casino where Mark and Flick had placed the Hamilton brothers. Drew wondered whether Welsh had membership at the casino and if this monthly payment was to cover that? He also connected Welsh's statement that he had tried to attack Mark for the Church. Could this be what he had meant? Putting the bank statements to one side, Drew made a mental note to visit Welsh and question him about the Church and the payments. Fifteen minutes more of poring over the papers brought Drew to the bottom of the box and a buff cardboard folder. He opened the flap and pulled out a sheaf of documents. These proved to be Welsh's certificates showing his school examination results and his law degree from Glasgow University. Drew's pulse quickened for a moment until he saw that the name of the school Welsh had attended wasn't one of the schools Kenny MacGovern had taught at. ------- Kenny smiled to himself as he reviewed the figures on how many people had visited his latest web-site. Having sent out orders for all of his 'converts' to supply him with details of their close family and friends, he found himself with a growing list of young females who he could potentially use for the Sugar and Spice web-site. His only problem was how to get these youngsters involved in filming? A simple answer had occurred to him and that had him creating another web-site - this one very basic and not visible to the casual Internet browser. The new site had only one function - to allow visitors to download and play a version of his mind-control brain defragmenter programme. It was easy to order his converts to pass on the web-site address to their young female friends and relatives and the figures he was now looking at confirmed that there was a high take-up of these youngsters downloading the programme. Kenny knew he would soon start to see more new converts sending messages to him to confirm that the programme had been successfully uploaded into their minds. After that he would be able to order them to do pretty much what he liked and he already had plans for them, plans that involved producing more footage for the Sugar and Spice web-site. From following news threads, Kenny knew that law enforcement agencies were getting more and more sophisticated in their ability to track down Internet criminals. There was always a danger that he would be tracked down through someone identifying the girls he was using for the moneymaking Sugar and Spice web-site. Kenny's planned solution to that was to have his converts photograph and film his content for him - using their own friends and relatives as the models. That way he would have girls from different countries, filmed by different converts. There would be no possible link back to him and therefore the danger would be removed. With so many now on his database he knew that it would also mean a massive increase in the amount of material being generated. He typed rapidly on his keyboard and called up the figures for how many people had taken out membership on the Sugar and Spice web-site. The smile on his face grew even larger when he saw that the total was already over four hundred and rising. What was more, virtually everyone who took out a membership had gone on to take out the Platinum membership too. A quick bit of mental arithmetic told Kenny that the Church was already gaining $40,000 dollars a month and that figure was only going to rise. With the amount of new content he would soon have available he knew he would be able to continually refresh things to keep members coming back. Kenny closed things down on the computer and decided to finish work installing the surveillance cameras he had bought. He guessed whoever was controlling him must be using e-mail to send the trigger phrase. His normal routine was to check his mail every night before going to bed. Now that he was alert to the possibility he was being controlled, Kenny was conscious that some mornings he couldn't remember actually getting into bed the night before. He thought that might be because he had been 'controlled', made to do something and then ordered to bed to cover the time gap that would have arisen. Mounting the two cameras was a straightforward job. He hooked them up to the controller that was wired up to a new PC he had bought specially for the purpose. This computer had no Internet link and it was therefore totally secure for what he wanted to use it for. Kenny's positioning of the cameras gave him one hundred percent coverage of the room. He called up the software that controlled them and made sure they were recording properly. Each camera had a motion sensor on its underside which activated the unit and that meant he wouldn't have to review hours and hours of recorded footage with nothing happening. Once he was satisfied that everything was working as it should, Kenny decided to turn in for the night. He felt a little more in control again now that he had the cameras up and he was actively trying to find out what might be happening to him. With any luck he would soon have some answers and then he could figure out how to turn the tables on whoever was doing this. That would be sweet. ------- "What do we do now?" Flick asked. "I'm not sure really. I mean, it's not every day someone tries to burn you to death, your friend's holiday cottage is torched around you and you're attacked and end up killing a man." "Well, when you put it like that..." Mark laughed out loud at the black humour of the moment. "Seriously," he said, "I suppose the police will be looking for us now too. We've still no idea who is trying to kill us and now we're on the run from the killers and the police." "I still don't get why you don't trust the police. I mean, I know it was strange that the car crash wasn't reported in the news but I don't think that means there's a huge conspiracy and all of Scotland's police forces are out to get you," said Flick. Mark just shrugged in response, his concentration on the narrow and twisting A87 road North. He had taken the decision to remain in the remoter highlands of Scotland for a number of reasons, the foremost of which was that he hoped it would be easier to spot anyone who might be following them. Of course, it should also be easier to avoid being picked up by the police too and Mark was still keen to avoid them if at all possible. They reached Kyle of Lochalsh and made the crossing from mainland Scotland over to the Isle of Skye via the Skye Bridge. Skye was also known as 'the misty isle' as it was often shrouded in the fog created by the coastal weather. Mark had made this crossing before and knew that the Cuillin Hills, one of the most dramatic features on Skye, were set out before them in one of Scotland's most stunning panoramas. It was barely light however, and the view was lost to them in the dim light. They crossed to Kyleakin, just able to make out the ruins of Castle Moil as they passed. Mark's research in previous years let him know that the castle had once been home to the Clan MacKinnon back in the 1500s but that was before the brutal highland clearances. The remaining drive was a test of Mark's concentration as the A87 twisted and narrowed along the length of the island until they neared Portree. He manoeuvred the Land Cruiser into Somerled square and found a parking spot easily enough at this early hour. "What are we going to do here?" Flick asked. "Nothing very much for the next few hours until things start waking up," Mark replied. "I do have a wee treat in store for you though." Mark got out of the Toyota and waited for Felicity to join him before locking it. He took her hand and led her westward along the square and then turned right so that they were on Portree's little harbour. The houses and commercial properties were all old but beautifully maintained along the front. Liberal use of whitewash and even some pale pink paint gave the buildings a quaint look but Mark had his back turned to them. The couple looked out over the harbour, which had little boats dotted around on the glassy calm surface. Their eyes were searching further out - away into the distance. As the sun rose from behind them it began to pick out and highlight the Cuillin Hills. The peaks rose from a swirling cloak of white mist and the sun blazed the red stone to create a breathtaking sunrise. "It's beautiful, they're beautiful" Flick whispered in awe. "That they are. We're lucky to have arrived at this time and even luckier that the hills aren't completely covered by the mist. It's surely an omen that our luck is about to change," replied Mark, standing behind Flick and wrapping his arms round her. "What are we going to do Mark? She asked. "I'm planning on just holing up here for a few days and checking in with DI MacIntosh. He'll hopefully tell us what's going on and when it might be safe to head back to civilisation," Mark answered. "Where are we going to stay and what is there to do?" Flick asked next. "Right behind us is the Isles Hotel. I've stayed there before and it can get pretty lively of an evening. The pace of things is different here in the isles, slower, not so urgent. But they certainly know how to enjoy themselves. I can guarantee that there will be a Ceilidh in the bar tonight." "Oh god, I haven't got any dancing shoes!" Flick complained with a laugh. ------- "There are just a few other questions I need answered," Drew explained as he checked over the recording equipment in the interview room. He had ordered a couple of uniformed officers to invite Jason Welsh back to the station for further questioning. As a lawyer himself, Welsh knew what his rights were but he was trying to co-operate fully with the police - shocked and stunned at his own inexplicable behaviour of only weeks before. "I'll try to help you in whatever way I can detective," he replied. "Has anything else come back to you as to why you would want to attack a complete stranger with a knife?" Drew began, purposely asking a very direct and unnerving question to begin the interview. His tactic clearly worked as Welsh was immediately fearful and beads of sweat sprang up on his forehead. The lawyer recovered quickly however, and Drew watched him physically pulling himself together before responding. "Nothing I'm afraid. All I can remember is that I had to do it for some reason. It was like a compulsion, I'm sorry I can't be of more help detective." "Previously you said you had to do it for the church. What did you mean by that?" Drew asked. Welsh immediately looked away and when Drew could once more see his eyes, they had a faraway look to them and he could see Welsh was not about to give an answer to his question. He decided to try a different tack. "Are you a gambling man, Mr Welsh?" Drew asked now. "What do you mean, detective? In what way? Do you mean do I take risks in my life or do you mean am I prone to betting money on things?" the lawyer asked. "Do you like a flutter? Do you bet on horses or football matches, are you a gambler?" Drew asked again. "No. I've got plenty of other ways of losing my money without giving it away to the bookies," replied Welsh, "it's a mug's game, how many poor bookies have you ever met? They tend not to lose and I'd rather not be one of those they fleece to be honest." "Not even the odd game of cards, roulette maybe?" Drew persisted. "No, never officer," replied Welsh. "Are you or are you not a member of the Golden Falls casino in the city?" Drew asked directly now, locking eyes with the lawyer to try and read whether there was any evasion in his reply. What he saw in the lawyer's eyes was not evasion however, rather he saw puzzlement. "No, officer. Why would you think that?" the lawyer asked. "When we searched your house we came across some of your bank statements. I noticed that you make a monthly payment to the Church of Cyberscience, an organisation that owns the Golden Falls. I'm also curious about whether this is the 'church' that you felt was telling you to attack Mr MacGhee. Can you explain you're association and why you're making those monthly payments?" Drew asked. MacIntosh was quite stunned by the reaction to his question this time. Welsh's face went completely slack and his eyes appeared glassy, without focus. "Mr Welsh are you alright? Mr Welsh can you hear me?" he asked, leaning across the interview desk to shake the lawyer's arm. Colour gradually returned to the lawyer's cheeks and his eyes blinked and met Drew's. "I'm sorry, officer. What were you saying?" he asked hesitantly. "Are you feeling okay, Mr Welsh? You seemed to blank out for a moment there, you had me worried," Drew responded. "No, I'm perfectly fine. Where were we?" "I was asking you why you make a monthly payment to an organisation called the Church of Cyberscience?" Drew repeated. "I don't see why that has anything to do with your investigation officer and I am still allowed some personal privacy. Now, is there anything else you need to ask me?" Drew was thrown once again. The lawyer had flipped from being as helpful as he could possibly be to now being openly hostile in the blink of an eye. The very mention of the Church of Cyberscience seemed to generate extreme reactions in the man - from almost going into a trance, to aggressively defending the reason why he was making monthly payments. Drew had interviewed enough people in this very room to know when he was unlikely to get anything more. The lawyer had undoubtedly clammed up on him. He tried once more. "Mr Welsh, just what is your connection to the Church of Cyberscience? What is it and what part has it played in your attempted assault of Mr MacGhee?" "Detective, I think this has gone far enough. I'm sorry but I'm not going to answer anymore questions. I'd like to leave now! Is there anything else?" "Mr Welsh, I'm going to get to the bottom of this. You'd better think carefully about how helpful you're being and how that will look in court. I think the court will take a dim view of you holding back important information. Now, for the last time, what is your fucking relationship with the Church of Cyberscience!?" Drew shouted. "I'd like to leave now detective," Welsh repeated. Drew knew he wasn't going to get an answer. "Well, thanks again for coming in this morning to help Mr Welsh. You think about what I've said, think about how the court will view your lack of co-operation. If you change your mind, you know how to contact me. I'll get somebody to show you out," he said. Drew left the interview room to find a uniformed officer who could escort the lawyer from the building. The importance and centrality of the Church of Cyberscience was starting to crystallise in his head now and he mulled that over as he walked. Somehow this church was involved with the Hamiltons and with this lawyer. Both the Hamiltons and Welsh seemed to want Mark MacGhee dead. Drew decided he needed to get someone to dig up everything they could about the Church of Cyberscience. ------- The Hamiltons were worried that no word had been received from their man. Duncan had taken his last call so they both knew that he was set up to try and kill the journalist in a sleepy little backwater called Ratagan. That had been two days before and since then they had heard nothing. "Boss, you'd better come and see this," came a voice from the games room. Duncan left the office and headed for the room where the voice had come from, Roddy on his heels. The room had a TV mounted on a bracket on one wall. The set provided background noise and was variously tuned to music channels, sports and as now, a news channel. The scene on the screen showed a dramatic and picturesque view of the highlands. It was almost picture-postcard perfect with the glens, mountains and loch but the scene was spoiled by the jarring presence of a burnt-out cottage in the foreground. A reporter was doing a voice-over to the footage and the games room grew quiet as they all listened. " ... two nights ago the quiet and remote village of Ratagan was rocked by a brutal slaying and the complete destruction of the cottage you can see behind me. The residents in this normally sleepy little highland town are struggling to understand what is going on in their midst as police and crime scene investigators have flooded into the area. "I spoke to one local man this morning, Craig MacEwan, and here's what he had to tell me." The scene on the TV screen changed to show a close up of a man's face, a face reddened and weather-beaten by years of exposure to the highland winds and sun. The accent was a soft highland lilt, musical, lyrical. " ... we could all see the flames from the cottage and some of us ran up there to see if we could help. It was Dougal who found the body and we knew then that we couldn't touch anything, the cottage was already too far gone anyway. I phoned the local constables but was told they already knew somehow and that the police were on their way from Inverness. After that it was all just madness as you can see. Incomers everywhere, strangers tramping through the village as if they own the place. The camera panned back now to a live shot of the reporter on the scene, the smoke blackened ruin of the cottage clear over his shoulder. " ... I asked Mr MacEwan who lived in the burnt-out cottage and whether it was possible that there were other bodies inside there. Apparently the house is a holiday home and seldom used but over the past few days a young couple have been staying there. Mr MacEwan described them as a pair of young lovebirds who have been seen around the village but they haven't been seen since the fire. The police here have refused to comment on the possibility that the couple may have perished in the fire that consumed this cottage two nights ago and a painstaking search of the ruins is still underway..." Roddy had heard enough. He knew how these news reports tended to go round and round in a loop, repeating the same information time and time again. It would be some time before anything new emerged from the scene and meanwhile he was willing to bet that the murdered man was his own and that something had gone wrong once more. "You know, this bastard is proving much too hard to bump off. There's already a trail a mile-wide that will tell the police someone is trying to kill him. I say we stop pussy-footing about and just off him as soon as we can get a gun in his face," said Duncan. Roddy had to agree with his brother - there was absolutely nothing to be gained anymore by trying to make MacGhee's death look like an accident. So long as they could guarantee the eventual killer couldn't be traced to the clan then Roddy was also now in favour of a quick hit. "Okay, put out a contract on him with a bonus for an early termination," Roddy told his brother. "I don't have to tell you that it can't be traced back to us, do I?" "At least Wiggins saved us the bother of having to teach him a lesson for failing. It looks like the journalist already did that job for us," Duncan laughed. ------- Chapter 10 Mark and Felicity enjoyed a couple of stress free days in Portree. Mark had been spot on in his assessment of what to expect in the hotel's bar of an evening and whisky and fiddle music had been the order of the day. The night before, Flick had enjoyed herself like never before as she tried to keep up with the pace of the traditional tunes. Many of the local men were interested in dancing with her and Mark chuckled to himself as he saw just how tired out she was becoming. At last he stepped in to save her and dragged her over to a corner table where he set a drink down in front of her. Flick's legs still felt a bit wobbly when she woke up but somehow she managed to drag herself out of bed and have a shower before joining Mark downstairs in the hotel restaurant for breakfast. She loaded up a bowl with fresh fruit and asked for brown toast and a pot of breakfast tea. Mark was just finishing what appeared to have been a full morning grill and she knew that normally made him very happy. Flick noticed that not only was he not smiling but he looked as if he was miles away. "Earth to Mark. Earth to Mark. Can you hear us?" she joked. Mark seemed to realise for the first time that she was there and he smiled in greeting. "Sorry, I was thinking about something," he apologised. "It must have been important to have you so focused. Care to share?" Flick asked. "Marchmont phoned me back this morning to give me some information on where the Church of Cyberscience banks its funds. Perhaps to be more accurate I should have said where it used to bank its funds. Apparently it did bank with RBS but it's changed now and gone offshore," Mark said. "Another dead-end then," scowled Flick. "Maybe, maybe not," replied Mark, "Marchmont knows somebody who works at RBS and he's trying to get any details of the Church's account that he can. He seems to think that there will be archived material setting out all of the details of transactions from when the accounts were set up." "And you think there might be something of interest in there?" Flick asked. "Come on, baby. What do I keep telling you - follow the money! Of course there will be something interesting in those accounts. There are bound to be details of payments made to the Church and also names of who it in turn has on the payroll. I can't wait to get my hands on this stuff," said Mark excitedly. Mark's excitement hadn't dimmed by the time his contact phoned him back again in the middle of the afternoon. He took Flick to historic Dunvegan Castle, home of the Clan MacLeod for some 800 years and they wandered the impressive stone structure and gardens, steeped in Scotland's past. When the call came on Mark's mobile, Flick knew immediately by the look on his face that it was Mike Marchmont once more. "Great! When can I have it? Really? Okay, I owe you Mike. See you soon, bye." Felicity could see that Mark had suddenly become nervous and she thought she knew why. "You want to go back to Glasgow now don't you?" she asked. "Look, I'm sorry baby but Mike has managed to get access to the Church accounts. Why don't I drive back and pick them up while you stay here out of danger?" he suggested. "No way, buster! When are you going to get it into that thick skull of yours that you can't keep treating me like I'm fragile? At the merest hint of trouble you try and drop me like a hot potato - well, I'm not having it. The best way of ensuring our safety is in catching the bastards who are trying to kill us and if that means going back to Glasgow, then let's get it on. Let's take the fight to them for a change. It'll certainly beat constantly looking over our shoulders waiting for the next attack," Flick said hotly. A grin lit up Mark's face at her outburst. Once again he was struck by the character of the woman he loved, the pluck, the willingness to stand up for herself and to fight back. "Okay my fiercesome valkyrie, let's go catch some bad guys!" Mark laughed. ------- A number of important things happened over the next week. The Hamiltons found it easy to hire a contract killer to target MacGhee - anyone with a few thousand pounds could do that nowadays. All that they had to do now was locate the journalist as his whereabouts were presently unknown. Once they managed that, the killer wouldn't waste any time as there was a fat bonus in it for him if the hit was carried out quickly. Mark's return to Glasgow with Felicity was quickly reported back to Duncan and the brothers felt that their worries would soon be at an end. The killer they had hired was coming north from Liverpool and Duncan was quick to make a call to get him on his way before MacGhee disappeared again. Mark also took the first steps in what he hoped would be an important breakthrough. He met with Mike Marchmont who handed over a brown envelope bulging thick with papers of some kind. Mark handed over a smaller envelope, this one full of bank notes in payment for the services the money-man had given. Excited at the prospect of finding something that would help lead him to his attackers, Mark couldn't wait to begin to examine the Church of Cyberscience accounts and he immediately phoned DI MacIntosh. "Drew? Don't ask me where or how I managed to get them - but I've got copies of the Church of Cyberscience's bank account details. Any chance you'd like to go through them with me?" he asked. "Where are you Mark?" the detective asked in reply. "I'm here in Glasgow. Do you have somewhere we could go where we wouldn't be disturbed?" Mark queried. "Are you out of your mind!? Half of Glasgow seems intent on burying you and here you are wandering around the city." "Drew, calm down. These accounts were just too important to pass up. I had to come back. Now, you can do your bit by finding us somewhere that Flick and I will be safe and where we can go through these papers to hopefully break this case open," Mark responded. Although clearly still annoyed that Mark had chosen to return to Glasgow, Drew was just as intrigued by the possible contents of the Church's accounts. The journalist's excitement overtook his annoyance pretty quickly. He thought quickly about where he could take the pair. The station was out because even he knew the Glasgow gangs had policemen on their payroll. He was also pretty sure that the Hamiltons would already have Mark under surveillance so he would need to organise some diversions to get them safely out of Glasgow again. "Okay, I think I know a place where we can go but listen Mark, the gangs will certainly have you on their radar. Don't be surprised if you already have a tail and we're going to have to deal with that and quickly," he said. The Hamiltons were frustrated when their 'listening post' reported that Mark had returned to his apartment and had been overheard telling Flick they had to leave again immediately. Their contract killer wouldn't be in Glasgow quickly enough to try and take out the journalist before the pair were on the move again it seemed. ------- Kenny made a breakthrough of his own too. Waking up in the morning, he realised he once again had the funny feeling of not remembering actually going to bed the night before. A little shot of excitement mixed with fear surged through him, as he contemplated possibly having something to work with at last. He forced himself to take his time showering and getting dressed, even lingering over a light breakfast of tea and toast before making his way to the computer room. He took his seat in front of his PC but didn't immediately turn it on. Instead he swivelled in the chair and booted-up the stand-alone computer that controlled the cameras. It didn't take Kenny long to call up the file containing the recorded footage from the night before. As the cameras were controlled by motion detectors, they hadn't recorded anything else since he had gone to bed. He found the end of the clip and the first thing he noticed was that the clock on the wall behind the computer was at 01:37, well past the time he would normally have stayed up to unless he was programming. His hands shook a little as he used the mouse to drag the recording back to an earlier point in the clip and then let it run again. Kenny found it extremely weird, even a little frightening to watch images of himself hunched over the computer without having any recollection of the events having taken place. He had no memory of this at all despite the fact that it had happened only hours earlier. He dragged the little indicator further back into the clip and saw himself going through some of the Church's account details on-line. The screens for this were pretty easy to identify even on the recording - the colours and layout immediately recognisable. Kenny could remember doing this the night before so he knew that whatever had happened must have occurred after this point of the evening. He sat back and let the recording play on. It was unnerving to watch himself on screen knowing that at some point in the near future someone was going to assume control of everything he did. The irony that he was doing the same thing to several thousand people around the world was completely lost on him at that moment. Twenty minutes later Kenny watched himself on screen close down the account details and maximize the window for his e-mail account. He couldn't stop himself from hunching forward in his seat as he had felt all along that it was most likely an e-mail message that triggered whatever was happening to him. He could see the screen in the film scroll down until it stopped and he watched himself clicking to open a particular e-mail. With grim fascination Kenny watched as his on-screen self seemed to suddenly flinch, tense up and then relax. The e-mail message scrolled down as he obviously took in all of its contents and then returned to the start and read through them again. The screen resolution wasn't anywhere near good enough to read what was in the message and that was perhaps a good thing as it could of course send him under again. It was all-important that he know what the message said however, and Kenny wracked his brain trying to come up with a way of unlocking the text. He called up some editing software and began to play around with the images from the recording - cutting, enhancing and zooming in. He worked at it for three hours solid but despite his computer wizardry nothing he could do let him read the words in the e-mail. He took a break and walked outside Cambo House into the grounds. It was a glorious day and the sky above was bright blue, with not a cloud to be seen. Kenny wandered down one of the many paths and without conscious thought found himself descending to the estate's little beach. On impulse, he bent to remove his shoes and socks and walked out towards the sea. Although it was late July he felt just how cold the water was when the first wave rolled up the beach and over his bare feet. All thoughts of going further out vanished in an instant and he retreated up the beach, laughing out loud at his cowardice. The very act of retracing his own steps - first away from the waves but then back up the beach and the path to the house - gave Kenny an idea that had his juices flowing once more. He virtually ran back to the computer room and dropped into the chair in front of the PC. Using the mouse, he unfroze the film clip and pulled his scrap-pad towards him as he stared at the screen. Years of working with computers - of typing away merrily, often furiously as he strung together lines of code - meant that Kenny was virtually as fast as a touch typist. The constant repetition had also ingrained the knowledge of where individual keys were on the keyboard so that, just like a typist, Kenny didn't need to look at the keyboard while he was typing. He watched his other self on the screen now as he scrolled through the e-mail again. Once the message had been digested twice, Kenny watched anxiously to see whether the message was saved or deleted. He let out a sigh of relief when he saw that he was saving the e-mail but his relief made him miss some of the vital actions. Using the mouse once more, he dragged the film back a few frames and then concentrated on what his hands were doing on the keyboard. Kenny's hand scribbled down each keystroke as it was made until he missed one and then he stopped and dragged the sequence back a little so he could start again. It took thirty minutes in all but in the end he had a string of characters on his scrap-pad, characters that he was sure if followed would lead him to where the e-mail had been saved on the computer. He studied the characters and could clearly see the string that they created. Kenny closed down the standalone PC and swivelled round to the computer that had featured in the recording from the night before. He quickly booted-up and waited for the operating system to go through the start-up routine then he carefully typed in each of the characters from his scrap-pad and hit the enter key. His actions opened up a hidden directory on his hard-drive and Kenny was stunned by this fact alone. Someone had managed to establish a cache on his hard-drive without his knowledge! Until now he had been sure his security was water-tight and the fact that someone was good enough to crack it seriously shocked and worried him. "Of course, he doesn't have to be a geek. He could just order me to use my skills to defeat my own security!" he realised. Kenny used some old-fashioned skills to list the hidden directory and to get a count of how many files there were stored in it. He leapt out of his chair and onto his feet when he saw the results. Once more he began pacing around the room, his agitation not letting him stay still for even a second. "Fuck! Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck! The first file dates back eight years. How long has this bastard been controlling me and what has he made me do in that time? Fuck!" The extent of what had been done to him was still unclear to Kenny but the number of files was perhaps something of a clue and there were over three thousand of them. The scale of it, the sheer length of time it had been going on was almost too much for his brain to take in. "Okay, okay, calm down boy, calm yourself down. The only way to find out what's been going on is to start at the beginning and go through them. Best to check for traps first. If this guy is as good as he seems then he will have thought about protecting these files - in fact, why hasn't he just had me delete them?" Kenny thought to himself. He sat down again and tried to focus. "Okay. Let's assume that he simply ordered me to use my skills to set all this up. What's the first thing that I would do to protect files I didn't want anybody else reading?" Kenny's fingers began to fly across the keyboard as he called up some of the diagnostic tools that he had developed and programmed himself. He used these to probe and look for the subtle bugs and traps that he himself would have established and soon found some of his best cunningly planted at various points in the directory commands. If he had simply tried to open any of the files the whole directory would have been wiped - he followed that trail and found that the 'wipe' used US Department of Defence standard procedures. That meant that anything wiped would have been completely unreadable and irrecoverable. "Good work, Kenny my son," he couldn't help but quietly congratulate himself on the quality and subtlety of the hidden bugs. It took another two hours to de-bug the coding concealed around the directory structure before he felt it was safe to try and open any of the files. He found his hands were shaking nervously and he decided he needed to have a drink and a think before looking at any of the material. Walking through to the lounge, Kenny poured himself a small malt whisky and sat in a recliner sipping it slowly. He guessed that each message he received would start with a trigger phrase to immediately take control of his mind and subsequently his actions. That meant that he would have to open them in a way that kept the trigger phrase from working. He laughed when a low-tech solution occurred to him and he put his whisky down and returned to the computer to give it a try. Sitting down in front of the computer again, Kenny opened up a new blank word document and then switched to the hidden directory again. He highlighted the file with the earliest date and turned his head away from the screen as he clicked to open it up. Still looking away from the screen, he held down the 'shift' key and used the arrow buttons on his keyboard to move the cursor one space at a time. He counted the spaces as he depressed the arrow key and once he had moved the cursor twelve spaces he stopped and clicked the right button on his mouse. Kenny knew that the edit toolbar would now be on the screen and he pressed the left button on the mouse now to cut whatever he had highlighted in the first file. Glancing down quickly without looking at the open file, Kenny shifted to the blank word document and quickly used the mouse to 'paste' whatever he had cut from the other file. He stared at the characters that appeared in the new word document... Kenny, have y The beginnings of the phrase appalled him. Even with only twelve characters, two of them spaces, he could tell that it was his own trigger phrase - there was no doubt. To be sure Kenny carefully moved the cursor back to the other file and turned his head to the side once more as he clicked to open it up. Counting once again he selected another twenty spaces and then right-clicked to cut what he had highlighted from the file. It was a simple matter to repeat the operation of opening up the new word document and pasting what he had cut so that it added to what was already there. Kenny looked at the screen once more and confirmed what he had suspected. The text in the word document had expanded and now read... Kenny, have you heard of the Chur "The bastard! He's using my own programme against me! Kenny knew what to do now. He closed the file down then closed the directory and called up the latest version of the brain defragmenter programme. His fingers were a blur once more as he set about amending the programme to build-in instructions that would override the trigger phrase when someone tried to use it on him. Once he was finished, he saved the code as a separate file and then ran the programme so it would upload into his mind. To be on the safe side he decided he would leave looking at the files until after he had slept. That would hopefully ensure the new programme had a chance to complete its work in his head before he risked exposing himself to the messages containing the trigger phrase. "Time for an afternoon nap," he told himself. The sooner the programme worked, the sooner he could start unravelling what had been done to him over the past eight years. ------- Chapter 11 Drew came up with a beautifully simplistic way of shaking off any tail that Mark and Felicity might have picked up. He parked his own car in the underground car park close to Glasgow's Sheriff Court and took a taxi back to the police station. Mark and Flick left the apartment in the undamaged Porche and made the short journey across town to the station. Mark parked in the car park and they grabbed small bags from the tiny trunk before making their way inside. Drew met the couple and led them along a series of corridors and down through the holding area in the station. "Stay close behind me," he ordered, as they approached a re-inforced, heavy looking door. A uniformed officer acknowledged Drew and turned a large key in the lock of the door, swinging it open to reveal an enclosed courtyard at the rear of the station. An armoured security van was parked up with its rear doors open. This was one of the vehicles used to transfer prisoners between the station's cells and the court and it had the benefit that all of its windows were blacked out. Drew, Mark and Flick quickly boarded the van and the doors were shut behind them with a clang. They took seats and braced themselves as the van moved through Glasgow City Centre traffic on its way to the Sheriff Court. The security doors at the court were opened in response to a radio message from the private guard who was riding shotgun beside the van's driver. The van pulled inside and the doors were quickly opened once more to allow the three of them to exit. "I'm pretty sure no one was interested in following us," the driver told them. Drew led the way over to his car and Mark and Flick stowed their bags before climbing into the rear seats and ducking down to keep out of sight. MacIntosh started the car and turned it towards the security door, passing through it and joining the heavy city centre traffic. A few minutes later he indicated that it was safe for Mark and Flick to show their faces. "Okay you two, I think we've shaken off anybody who might have been following you. It's safe to relax now," he said. "Are you really sure we had to go to all of this trouble Drew?" Mark asked. "How many attempts have been made on your life in the past few weeks Mark?" the detective asked. Drew's question had an immediate sobering effect on Mark and he decided the arrangements hadn't been over the top after all. "Where are you taking us?" he asked. "I thought the safest place would be the police college at Tulliallan," Drew replied, "the accommodation is a bit basic but at least we'll be surrounded by policemen and its unlikely even the Hamiltons would try anything there." The drive took them onto the M8 then the A80/M80 and the M876 until they crossed the River Forth on the Kincardine Bridge. Turning left through the little village of Kincardine, Drew motored on a few more miles until they spotted a large sign announcing the Scottish Police College on their right hand side. He indicated and pulled the car across the road and into the driveway that led up to the college. Drew had arranged rooms for them and he led the way upstairs in the accommodation block, indicating the room set aside for Mark and Felicity. "Get yourself settled and then we can meet up and have a look at what you've got," he suggested. Mark was too eager to begin to go through the church's accounts and his reply showed that. "Just let us dump our bags and then we can get started. The sooner we find something to go on the better for all concerned don't you think?" he asked. "Speak for yourself MacGhee, I could certainly use a shower," Flick complained. "Fine, Drew and I can make a start then and you can join us once you've freshened up," Mark replied. It was clear that Felicity wasn't too pleased at this suggestion but she could see how determined Mark was to immediately start going through the material he had brought with him. She sighed and shrugged but didn't argue. "I've managed to book one of the study rooms just down the hall. When you're ready just come and join us," Drew added. Mark opened the door to the room allocated to himself and Flick. As Drew had indicated, the room was fairly basic student accommodation but it would do. He dropped his bag on the double bed and opened it, pulling the thick brown envelope of papers out and then rejoined Drew in the corridor. Flick shook her head at the impatience of the two men and closed the door on them, intent on having a nice relaxing shower. Drew led the way down the corridor to the study room. It was pretty basic too with a desk, a table and four chairs and stand sporting a large A1 sized flip-chart. At least the desk had a PC sitting on it and Mark decided that would be useful, but only if it was connected to the Internet. "Okay, how are we going to work this?" he asked. "Why don't you let me see what we've got to look at?" Drew answered. Mark opened the envelope and withdrew the sheaf of account statements that were inside. He laid them down on the table and both he and Drew took seats. "I suggest we split these between us and start going through them. We're looking for any names - individuals or companies - that we can try and get a lead on. Here's some scrap paper and a pen, just jot down anything that you think is worth following up on," Drew suggested. Mark split the pile of statements into two piles and pushed one across the table to Drew. He pulled the other pile in front of himself and immediately began scanning the itemised entries on the first sheet. It was quickly apparent that most of the transactions going through the church's accounts were deposits, which made withdrawals really stand out. Mark tried to stop himself from jumping to the lines showing the withdrawals and instead work systematically through the statement line by line. He began to jot down names almost at once and then paused. The statement he was looking at was headed up to show that it was for the month of June and he quickly leafed through his pile to identify how many pages made up that month's account. "Jesus! There are nineteen pages to one month's accounts. The Church of Cyberscience certainly seems to be extremely active," he said aloud. Drew merely grunted in response, his head buried in his own pile of statements. Mark decided to follow a hunch and he set the nineteen pages of the June account to one side and quickly started scanning the first few pages of the July account, cross-referencing the entries to those for the previous month. His pulse quickened when he saw that the names associated with the payments being made to the church exactly repeated for each month. "Drew, the same names seem to appear each month and the payment amounts are the same each time. It looks like we have a large number of people subscribing or making donations on a regular basis. I'm going to see if I can get a lead on any of the names I've come up with so far," he said. "The log-on name and password should be in the desk drawer," Drew replied without looking up. Mark booted-up the computer and opened the drawer, finding a small piece of card with the information that Drew had suggested would be there. He already had over twenty names on his piece of scrap paper and he began entering them into google to see what he could find. Drew stopped what he was doing and crossed to peer over Mark's shoulder. He glanced at Mark's hand-written list of names and cross-referenced it with the list he had been making himself. He saw immediately that Mark was right, the same names appeared on both lists suggesting that each monthly account logged payments from the same sources. "Okay, we run the risk of just covering the same ground," he said, "you stick to the names on the first ten pages of each month's statements and I'll look at the names on the rest. I'll see if I can get access to another computer so we can both search at the same time," he offered. Mark was already engrossed in trying to track down the names on his list and he only grunted to indicate that he had heard Drew's suggestion. When Flick entered the study room just over an hour later she found Mark hunched over the PC at the desk and Drew typing away with one finger of each hand on a laptop at the table. She almost giggled at the intense looks on the faces of both men, they were sooo serious and focused on the job at hand. "How are you doing?" she asked. Her question seemed to startle both men and they realised for the first time that she had actually joined them. Mark pushed back from the desk and stood up to stretch his arms above his head, trying to get the stiffness out of his shoulders. "To be honest, I'm not really sure," he answered her. "Well have you found anything?" she asked. "There are lots of names here and the church is certainly raking the money in every month but I'm not getting much by way of information on any of the names from the Internet. There's not enough information here really and for every name I search. I'm getting either nothing or multiple possibilities. How about you Drew?" Mark asked. "Pretty much the same thing. The names all look to be private individuals and that seems a bit odd. The church doesn't seem to be doing any business with organisations, just individuals. One thing I have noticed though, all the names I've looked at so far have come back with the same as Mark - either nothing or multiple possibilities. I've tried to do a basic match on the possibilities and there is maybe a common thread running through them," Drew said. "What?" both Mark and Flick asked with some excitement. "It might be nothing but you get to see patterns in things in my line of business. All of the possibles include people who seem to be doing very well in their chosen professions - you know, rising young stars, fast-track promotions, best in class - that kind of thing." "But wouldn't people need to have done something noteworthy to even rate a mention on the Internet?" Flick asked. "You'd be surprised at the kind of detail that gets onto the Internet. Even a minor article in a local newspaper would be enough," replied Drew, "anyway, my point is that there might be some commonality between the names." "I don't think we're going to get very far doing this. What we need is some greater certainty that we're identifying the people making these payments - not just guesswork," said Mark. "I think I know just the person to go through this in fine detail. She's already done some really good work for me on the schools thing," replied Drew," I'm sure WPC Wilson would relish another chance to impress and to be honest I don't fancy wading through anymore of this stuff. No offence Mark, but it is kinda boring!" Mark's own excitement and enthusiasm had certainly dampened down as he had typed in search after search into google and come up with very little. The prospect of somebody else doing all the donkeywork held sudden appeal. "Would she be able to use official channels? If so, wouldn't that give us a much better chance of identifying these characters anyway?" he asked. "She will and you're right. If I'd realised what we would find in this stuff I would probably have just kept you at the station and used her. I need to get this stuff back there as soon as possible," Drew answered. ------- Kenny didn't bother with another shower, but instead made his way back to the computer room once he awoke from his nap. He was pretty sure that his new version of the programme would have taken effect and that he was now safe to look at the trigger phrase without it affecting him. It took only a few minutes to start up the computer and navigate to the hidden directory once more and he paused to look at the file listing. His geek instincts told him the first thing he should do was make a back-up of all the files before he started - always better to be safe than sorry. ------- Some miles away, Kenny's controller was also sitting in front of a computer. There was an explosion of surprise and anger at what was displayed on the screen. While Kenny had been smart enough to suspect and figure out that there were security measures protecting the files on his computer, he had missed one of the most basic functions of the e-mail system. When he had opened the first e-mail message it had triggered a response to the sender, alerting them to the fact that their message had been received and read. The controller stared at the message on the screen and knew that someone, probably Kenny himself, had read one of the 'secret' files. The controller shook off the anger and immediately began typing furiously at the keyboard. ------- Kenny looked at the little message on his screen. It showed the windows 'folder' with documents being copied into it while at the same time it counted up the percentage of the task that was complete. The icon reported that there was an estimated 12 seconds until the task was done and Kenny waited patiently for it to finish. He was startled when another message flashed up on the screen asking if he wished to confirm the deletion of all of the files? Before he could react the message blinked off and he could see the files beginning to disappear. A quick glance at the original message showed that the copying task had only two seconds left to finish and Kenny held his breath until the icon changed to show another confirming that the job was done. He reached down and wrenched the USB memory stick out of the port and then held down the power button on the computer to turn it off. "Bastard!! Shit that was close," Kenny exclaimed out loud. Someone had remote access to his computer and had just deleted all of the 'secret' files. His backup had finished just in time. ------- The controller hunched over the computer screen, urging the programme to go quicker. The link to Kenny's computer gave control over the other PC and the controller watched as the task of deleting all of the 'secret' files completed itself. There had always been a risk in saving the files, but a permanent record was required otherwise the controller would have lost track of the various orders that Kenny had been given over the years. Saving them on MacGovern's PC meant there was less risk. The controller had made an instantaneous judgement that it was better to lose the records than have Kenny read them. So far it seemed Kenny had only opened one file and with luck, the trigger phrase would have kicked in and he wouldn't remember anything about it. There was only one way to find out. The controller quickly typed up another e-mail message, starting with the trigger phrase and then going on to order Kenny to send a reply to confirm his status. Once the message was away, the controller stood and began pacing the room. What else could be done? What if MacGovern had somehow managed to override the programme? An idea occurred to the controller and quickly the keyboard was being pounded mercilessly once again. ------- Kenny's hands were shaking. He looked down at the memory stick and then glanced up at his computer, giving it a glare as if to accuse it of being a traitor. Throughout his life he had been the technical wizard, the one who controlled the hardware and software better than anybody else. The fact that someone had control over his PC was perhaps even more disturbing to him than the idea he himself was being controlled. Being the master of computers was something that had always given his life meaning, something he took for granted and to have his ability shaken so fundamentally was a huge shock. "The only way to start to get to the bottom of this is to go through the files." he thought to himself. Kenny spun his chair round and fired up the stand-alone PC. There was no way he would use the other computer again until he had some idea of what had been done to it and that meant working through the thousands of files that were now on the memory stick. Once the operating system had started up, he pushed the memory stick into the USB port and clicked to open up the drive. After a moments hesitation, Kenny clicked to open the first file once more and took a deep breath before starting to read. By the time he reached the end of the first message Kenny knew what mistake he had made and what had alerted whoever was behind this. The e-mail ended with instructions for him to save the file to the hidden directory and to mark the e-mail as un-read. He now realised that this simple act had set the most basic of traps, something that was so basic he hadn't thought of it. Opening the file must have sent a response to let the sender know he had opened the file and that had resulted in the attack on his computer to delete the files. "If I hadn't followed good practice by backing the files up, everything would be gone now and there would be no record of what's been going on for the past eight years. It must make for good reading." Kenny thought. He settled down to work his way through the contents of the memory stick, his face growing paler and paler the further he got. After the first twenty or so files he had to take a break as he couldn't see the words on the screen through the tears that were streaming down his face. Reading each message, going through the detail of what he had been ordered to do brought everything vividly into his consciousness. All that had been buried in his mind by the programme was now revealed and he was able to recall everything that he had said and done while being controlled. Going through each message was like re-living the events, only now with his conscience fully engaged so that he suffered through the horror of what he had done to the young people he had been responsible for. The files were basically a diary of what Kenny had been ordered to do, an audit trail of how his thinking had been moulded, how he had been changed as a person. For someone who had started out with a burning desire to do good, to teach youngsters with the same passion that he had approached computing himself, the story that was unfolding in front of him was crushing in its wickedness. Kenny's eyesight blurred as he tried to take in the words that described how he was to start controlling others. His chest tightened unbearably as he saw how his conscience had been overridden and how his base fantasies about young girls had been fuelled, heightened and twisted until he had been ordered into acting on them. He wandered through into the sitting room and poured himself another drink before collapsing in a heap into one of the easy chairs. After having only read twenty or so of the messages, he already knew that he had been turned into a monster, the kind of evil predator that he had always despised. So far he had only read twenty of the messages - there were still thousands to go through and he was unsure whether he could take much more. Silently he tried to stiffen his own resolve. "You're just going to have to face it son. You're going to have to go back in there and read every single message, re-live every single abomination that you are responsible for. "If there's any chance of you catching who is behind this, if there's any chance that you can reverse some of the evil things you've been made to do, then you're just going to have to suck it up and get on with it. Now, quit being a baby and get back to work." ------- The young WPC manning the phone lines of the Strathclyde Child Protection Unit was bored. Her shift was due to end in just over an hour's time and it had been a very quiet day. Only four calls had come in all day and that meant the time had dragged by. She had tried to keep busy by working at some of the paperwork she needed to get through, but it had been a long, slow, monotonous day. That was about to change as she realised a call was coming through. "Child Protection Unit. This is Heather, how can I help?" she said, answering the call. The voice on the other end of the line sounded funny, tinny somehow or maybe electronic in a weird echoing way. "You need to nick Kenny MacGovern. He's making and selling child pornography from the Cambo House Estate. You'll have to hurry before he destroys all the evidence. If you don't believe me - go to 'www.sugar&spice.org' and you'll get the idea." "Can I ask your name sir?" Heather enquired but realised the caller had already rung-off and she was talking to herself. She didn't get too excited, as hoax calls were quite common. She did however click on her computer and type in the web-site address that the anonymous caller had given. Heather knew immediately that this call could be a serious one. The design, the look and feel of the website had 'professional operation' written all over it. This was definitely one to pass up the line quickly to see whether the brass wanted to follow-up on it. Before she sent the message using the internal e-mail system, she did a quick google search for the Cambo House Estate and then one for Kenny MacGovern. She was surprised at the amount of hits produced but quickly copied some of the details into her message and hit the send button to fire it upstairs. ------- It took WPC Wilson four days to prepare a report on the people whose names appeared in the Church of Cyberscience bank account statements. Drew had already speed-read through the report to pick up the highlights and was now going back over it more slowly to pore over the fine detail. He was gratified to see that his initial hunch proved to be correct. There was a common thread running between the majority of the people involved - they were successful people in their own fields. They were either already in senior positions or were on the fast-track to the top. He took in the details of lawyers, accountants, doctors, successful businessmen and even some politicians. They could certainly afford the payments they were making to the church every month, but why were they making them? In one of those moments in life when a flash of inspiration seems to appear at random, Drew somehow found himself making an unlikely connection. He was thinking about the 'golden years' being experienced by these people when the term, 'golden years' made him think about the schools he had been investigating. Was there any connection between the two? "Steady, Drew! Has to be a co-incidence, has to be. That would just be too weird for words." The detective lifted the handset on the phone sitting on his desk and punched in the extension number for WPC Wilson. "Sheila? It's Drew MacIntosh. You know the report you've just delivered on the payments to the Church of Cyberscience? I know this is going to sound daft, but could you check the names of the people you've identified and see if any of them went to the schools where that Kenny MacGovern taught?" "What's got you thinking there's a connection?" she asked. "Nothing concrete, let's just call it an old copper's nose twitching," he replied. "Okay, I can't look at it before tomorrow afternoon though. I'm doing something for sergeant MacCardle," she told him. "That will have to do then, won't it? Thanks again, Sheila," Drew finished the call. ------- Chapter 12 Over the four days it had taken WPC Wilson to investigate and compile her report for Drew, WPC Heather Cairns' e-mail had sparked a flurry of activity elsewhere in the Strathclyde police force. The Chief Superintendent in charge of the Child Protection Unit knew he didn't have enough to get a warrant to search the Cambo House Estate but he had to go through the motions anyway. The importance of the anonymous call and the information it provided - indicating that children were at serious risk - meant that he had to be seen to press for immediate and urgent action. That had wasted a day and a half of his time and really was frustrating. Once he had it on the record that he had tried to press for a warrant and had been refused, he could turn to slower, more old-fashioned police methods. He had already ordered two of his team to pay the Cambo House Estate a visit. Their instructions were to establish covert surveillance and to record any comings and goings. If there was any chance of gaining access to the premises without being seen, they were authorised to do so. The pair had already been in place for a day and a half but hadn't uncovered anything useful so far. ------- Kenny was still at the early stages of working through the messages on the memory stick. In four days he had worked through over four hundred of them - studying the detail of what he had been ordered to do and scribbling the key points down on a notepad he had open in front of himself. He had established the pattern of how he had initially been controlled very quickly. From the paper trail it looked as if someone had taken over pretty soon after he had developed the brain defragmenter programme. He had been ordered to report anything interesting to his controller on a weekly basis or immediately if it was vital or really significant. Kenny knew that once he felt safe to turn on his other PC then these 'reports' and the address they were sent to would be one way of tracking his controller down. He knew that he had more studying to do before he would be able to turn the PC on however. He would need to read all of the messages on the memory stick in order to find out what level of control over the PC he had set up for whoever was controlling him. Only then might he be able to think up a safe way of turning the unit on without further valuable information being deleted. Kenny was using a new page of his notebook for each message he read - setting out who he had controlled, what damage he had done and noting key aspects that might help him begin to unpick what he could. He logged any potentially useful technical information - such as instructions to do with the computer - on a separate sheet. It was still traumatic reading the detail but somehow he was becoming de-sensitised to most of it. Now and again a message was still able to break through the curtain he had drawn round himself - like the one where he had been told to control and seduce some new and younger girls. The memories of how he had acted on this command were suddenly very clear and instead of exciting him, they now made Kenny sick to his stomach. Thinking about young girls as a fantasy thing had been okay somehow, but actually doing what he had done, actually living out the fantasies - even allowing for the fact that he was being controlled by someone else - was shocking. The deeper Kenny sank into the swamp his life seemed to have become, the more determined he became to find out who was behind all of it and to settle the score. He had just reached the point where he had been ordered to set up an account for the Church of Cyberscience and to begin to gather in money from his converts. Once more Kenny was honest enough to admit to himself that his controller was very good, very clever indeed. He had picked up on Kenny's greed for money and worked on his subconscious to make it even worse, to bring it out and build on it. He read the details of how that had been done, how his greed had been fuelled to the point where setting up donations every month seemed like a fine idea. Now, without the handicap of the mind control to subdue his conscience, Kenny was appalled at the scale of what he had been doing. He was aware of his sense of morality and principle returning and that made him feel hellish about what had been done to hundreds, possibly thousands of people who he had exposed to the programme. Kenny was halfway through one message that made it clear he was now controlling some major criminals when he decided he needed to take a break. He jotted the names of the Hamilton brothers down on a fresh page in his notebook and stood up to stretch his legs. All of the details of the Hamiltons and what he had ordered them to do were now clear to him. He felt close to being physically sick at the realisation that he had ordered someone's death - he had ordered the Hamiltons to kill a journalist. Kenny staggered through the house in a daze and out to the car that sat in the driveway. He started the car and aimed it towards the estate's gates, no real idea of where he was going just that he needed to get away for a while. As Kenny disappeared down the drive, two plainclothes policemen emerged from the woods that surrounded the house and raced across the lawns to the front door. Finding it open, they entered to see what they could find. "You take upstairs and I'll see what I can find down here," the taller of the two said. "How long do you think we've got?" his partner asked. "Let's say fifteen minutes - no more than that so be as quick as you can." As his partner dashed upstairs, the first policeman began to go through the rooms on the ground floor. When he came to the sitting room he spotted the used whisky glass and pulled a plastic evidence bag out of his pocket. He carefully put the glass in the bag and sealed it - happy that they would be able to lift fingerprints from it and hopefully confirm the identity of the man who was living here. Moving further into the house he at last came to the computer room. Kenny's notepad sat open on the desktop and he immediately began to flick through the pages, speed-reading the notes that Kenny had made. "Bingo!" he said out loud. He couldn't quite believe some of the things that were written down but when he read about sex with fourteen year-old girls he knew he had enough to convince his gaffer to mount a raid on the house. The names of the Hamilton brothers and details of the need for a journalist to be killed also jumped out of the pages at him. Believing he had seen enough for the meantime, he retraced his steps and called out for his partner. "What is it?" "I've found enough to convince the chief a raid on this place can be justified. It's time to go, come on, before this bastard comes back and catches us." ------- Four days of being confined to the Police College with nothing to do was driving Mark and Felicity stir crazy. They ate all of their meals in the large staff canteen and the food was barely passable. They exercised in the extensive grounds of the college but the abrupt slowing down of the pace of their lives was difficult to adjust to. "What is MacIntosh up to?" Flick asked. "I don't know, but I hope we're not going to be kicking our heels here for much longer. I don't know if I can stand even one more day," Mark replied. "Call him again," Flick suggested. "I've left six different messages for him and he's not answered any of them. What makes you think I'll be able to get him now?" Mark asked. Felicity's boredom and frustration were starting to get to her and it showed. Mark could read the signs and knew that he was feeling the same way. "Look, he didn't tell us we couldn't leave. Why don't we just go and see what else we can find out for ourselves? I mean, the only leads he's got so far came from us anyway. It stands to reason that any other breaks we get are going to have to come from us - he's not proving himself to be much of a copper, is he?" Mark asked. "Mark, he said we would be safe here. Remember, somebody has made at least three attempts to kill us in the past few weeks. Are you sure it's a good idea to leave?" Flick asked. "If we stay here any longer we'll end up killing each other and save whoever is after us the bother," Mark replied. Felicity laughed at his comment but could see the truth behind it; being confined to the college really was getting them both down. "Okay. Where do we go and how do we get there? We've got no transport here remember," she said. "Surely we can get one of the trainees here to give us a lift somewhere?" Mark suggested. "Where to?" Flick asked again. "Perth isn't far and there's a major train station there. That opens up most of the country," Mark replied. "Perth it is then. You go upstairs and pack while I use my feminine charms to convince one of these young coppers to drive us." ------- Drew sat staring at WPC Wilson's latest notes in amazement. A high percentage of the names on the Church of Cyberscience bank account statements had attended schools where Kenny MacGovern had been a teacher. He was willing to bet that those that hadn't could also be linked somehow to MacGovern if he did a little more digging. Something else had been highlighted by Sheila, something that both he and Mark hadn't spotted. The Hamiltons were included in the bank statements; the Hamiltons were also donating money every month to the Church of Cyberscience. This was incredible. What was the connection and why were all of these people donating money every month to this church? "It's almost like a version of that group - what are they called again? - aye, the Bilderberg Group. What is it they do? Aye, that's right, they're supposed to be a secret group of people who influence world events. Capitalists, businessmen, politicians, crooks even - all getting together to do shady deals and influence what's going on around the world. Fucking nutters if you ask me, run by the oil companies for the benefit of the oil companies. Is this a Scottish version of something like that? If there weren't so many women on the list I'd be tempted to say it was a bunch of freemasons up to no good. I guess I'd better share this with Mark, maybe he'll have some idea of what's going on. "I need to tell him that the Hamiltons appear in the Church accounts as well. That can't be a coincidence either and it's strange the way all of these different things are suddenly coming together and that they all lead back to this MacGovern character. It's definitely time that I looked at MacGovern a little bit closer." he thought to himself. Before heading back to Tulliallan, Drew made his way to his own Chief Superintendent's office and knocked on the door. "Come in." Drew opened the door and entered to find Chief Superintendent Hugh Graham almost buried under tray after tray of paperwork. He laughed. "I see you haven't lost touch with real police work, sir. That's good to know and it will do wonders for morale around the station," he joked. "Fuck off, MacIntosh. What do you want?" his chief asked sourly. Drew realised that his boss was not in the mood to have the micky taken so he got down to the point of his visit. "I thought it was about time I gave you an update on several cases I've been working. Things are getting to an interesting point and you need to know what's going on," Drew said. "Anything's got to be better than pen pushing. Okay, pull up a chair and tell me what you've got," Graham offered. Drew took the chair in front of the desk and began to brief his boss on his initial interest in the Hamiltons, how he had involved the journalist and took him through the key points of what had happened over the past few weeks. Chief Superintendent Graham grew increasingly interested as Drew recounted the attempts on Mark's life and then introduced the links to the Church of Cyberscience, the Glasgow casinos, the monthly donations and the links to Kenny MacGovern. "So, you see Chief, everything keeps coming back to this MacGovern character. I don't really know what I've got beyond the Hamiltons taking over some of the Glasgow gang activity and perhaps using the casinos to launder their dirty money. I can't figure out what this Church has got to do with anything else but if the Hamiltons were controlling it, why would they be making donations like all the others?" Drew asked. "How much money did you say was involved?" Graham responded with a question of his own. "I didn't, but it's big. We're talking millions here," Drew answered. The Chief Superintendent whistled. "What additional support do you need? If this thing is that big it will make us all look good if you can get to the bottom of it," said Graham. Drew smiled wryly to himself. The top brass were always thinking about budgets, publicity and targets - in that order. With the prospect of breaking a big case he wasn't surprised his boss was offering additional support. ------- Mark and Felicity were being driven along the A977 on their way to Perth in a beat-up Volkswagen. The young trainee policeman who was driving wasn't too pleased, as he had agreed to give Felicity a lift thinking she was on her own and that he would have the chance to try and chat her up. When Mark had appeared with their bags he felt as if he had been conned by the beautiful young woman but didn't feel that he could withdraw his offer. The A977 joins the M90 at Balado, the venue for Scotland's biggest summer outdoor rock festival each year. They were just passing through Balado when Mark's mobile rang in his pocket. He hurriedly fished it out and answered the call. "Hello?" "Mark? It's Drew. Where the fuck are you?" MacIntosh barked down the line. Drew had arrived back at the Police College only to find that Mark and Felicity had packed up and left. "We're on our way to Perth. I'm sorry but we got tired of waiting," Mark replied accusingly. "Well get your arse back here! I've made some significant breakthroughs. You're not going to believe this stuff," Drew said. Mark glanced at Flick and then replied. "What have you got?" he enquired. "Not over a mobile, Mark. Get back here, I promise you it's worth it." "Okay, we'll be back there in half an hour." "I'm really sorry about this, but could you take us back to Tulliallan?" Mark asked the young trainee who was driving. "What the hell is going on?" the young man demanded. "Look, it's just a change of plans. Something new has come up. It's not as if you wouldn't have to drive back there anyway after you dropped us off in Perth. At least now you don't have to go all the way there," Mark answered. The rigid set of the young man's shoulders and the scowl on his face made it clear he was not at all happy with events but he took advantage of the next roundabout to swing the car round to head back down the A977. "What was that all about?" asked Flick. "It seems that MacIntosh might be a detective after all. He says he's made some big breakthrough on the case and wants us back at Tulliallan," Mark replied. ------- Kenny parked the car and got out. He had driven along the Fife coast road as far as St Andrew's and then wandered the beach for forty minutes or so, trying to clear his head of all of the awful things that he seemed to be responsible for over the past few years. He could remember the Hamilton brothers from his time teaching at Glebe High School. Having broken through the control over his own mind he could also now recall how he had used the programme on the two boys (and many others) to put an end to their disruptive behaviour in class. It was frightening to think that the two youngsters he remembered were now in control of a gang of violent criminals. Even more frightening was the fact that he seemed to be in control of them. The message he had read had re-surfaced all of the repressed images of what he had done. He knew about the Church, the money laundering, about the purchase of the casinos, and the orders to get rid of Mark MacGhee so he couldn't expose what was going on. "Jesus! Just how low have I sunk?" he asked himself. Another thought occurred to Mark at that moment. The sheer volume of information that was coming back to him had overloaded his brain at first but now he was coming to grips with it and he slammed his palm into his forehead in anger as he realised he had missed something. "Fuck! What if they haven't killed the man yet? What if there's still time to save him?" He began to run through the sand and up the dunes towards where he had abandoned his car. Perhaps there was still a chance he could put a stop to one of the evil things he had set in train. He revved the car and tore out if the carpark, throwing the vehicle round the coast road as if his own life depended on getting back to Cambo as quickly as possible. The car fishtailed as he wrenched the wheel to turn into the drive and then raced it towards the house. Gravel chips flew everywhere as he slammed on the brakes and scrambled from the car as fast as he could, racing for the computer room where he had left his mobile phone. Kenny's memory had restored all of the information that the programme had forced him to hide away and he knew the contact details for the Hamiltons were on the PC in a database. He knew that turning the computer on could mean the loss of more data but a man's life was possibly at stake and he had to take the risk. He fired up the PC and drummed his fingers impatiently as he waited for it to go through the start-up routine. Once the screen settled, he wasted no time in calling up the database and then searched for the Hamiltons. He scribbled the phone number down and quickly shut off the computer once more, sighing with relief that nothing else seemed to have been lost. Kenny nervously picked up his mobile and carefully punched in the number he had written down. For all intents and purposes this would be the first time he had knowingly contacted the brothers, a pair who were capable of just about anything. He found that his hands were shaking and sweat broke out on his forehead. "Hello?" he heard as the call was answered. "Is this Roddy?" he asked, his voice sounding too high-pitched even to his own ears. "No, it's Duncan. Who is this?" "Duncan, err, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" Kenny managed to get out. When there was only silence on the other end of the phone, Kenny realised that the trigger phrase had worked. He had to force his breathing to slow down as he was in danger of hyperventilating. After a few moments he was able to continue. "Listen carefully, Duncan. I want you to get Roddy and put him on the phone," Kenny ordered. A few moments of silence passed and then he heard another voice in his ear. "Who is this?" "Roddy, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" Kenny asked, more confident now. Again there was only silence in response and Kenny was sure he now had both brothers under his control. "Roddy, can you put the phone on speaker so both of you can hear what I'm saying?" Kenny asked. "Sure," came the reply. "Can you tell me whether you've managed to kill Mark MacGhee yet?" he asked in a rush. "No. The bastard has more lives than a cat. It shouldn't be long now though. We've put a contract on him and the guy on the gun is first rate," came the reply. "The Church of Cyberscience needs you to cancel the contract, it needs to be cancelled with immediate effect. Hang up now and cancel the contract. Do not, I repeat, do not make any further attempts to kill the journalist. Is that clear?" "We've to cancel the contract and stop trying to kill the journalist," came the reply. "That's right. Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended," finished Kenny. He thumbed the button on his mobile to end the call and slumped back in the chair, the tension draining a little from his strung out nerves. With a little luck he might have just started to reverse some of the damage he had been doing over the years. The possibility that the journalist could be safe also now gave him the added motivation to return to the e-mail messages. "How many others can I save if I work through these? Maybe there are other awful things I've ordered people to do that haven't actually happened yet. I need to work faster, lives could depend on it." Kenny swung round to begin going through the e-mails again when a blinking red light caught his eye. He realised it was the motion sensor on one of the cameras he had set up in the room. Something nagged at the back of his head and then crystallised. The light had been winking off and on when he had come back into the room - it only did that when it had recorded footage that needed to be reviewed. Quickly Kenny called up the control programme for the cameras on the stand-alone computer. He immediately saw that there was indeed some recorded footage and he clicked to play the clip. Kenny watched the computer screen as it showed a strange man entering the computer room and carrying out a hasty search. All of the blood drained from his face when he saw the man pause and then begin to flick through the notepad on the desk, the notepad where he had recorded details as he reviewed the e-mails. Kenny watched the excited reaction of the man then watched on the screen as he rushed out of the room. "Who the fuck are you? And what the hell are you doing in my house?" Kenny thought to himself. A sudden loud crash interrupted his private anger and confusion. The crash was repeated and Kenny leapt to his feet. He rushed towards the source of the noise, which seemed to be the House's front door. As he turned the corner of the hallway, the front door splintered around where it was hinged to the frame. Realisation dawned on Kenny. Who would be excited by his notes rather than sickened? The police of course. He seated himself in front of the PC just as the loudest crash yet announced that the door had caved-in. Kenny typed furiously as he heard the pounding of heavy boots coming along the hallway and then a scream pierced his eardrums. "POLICE! NOBODY MOVE, POLICE!" He felt a hand grab his shoulder, wrenching him away from the computer and launching him across the room where he collided violently with the wall opposite the door. "I SAID NOBODY MOVE! WHAT THE FUCK WERE YOU DOING, YOU LITTLE SHIT?" Through the pain and the ringing in his ears Kenny realised the officer was shouting at him. From his position lying in a heap on the floor, he peered up at the man. He took in the heavy boots, the armoured vest and the menacing 'night-stick'. The only thing missing he decided was a pair of mirrored sunglasses. He groaned as he tried to sit up before replying. "The front door was unlocked you know. If you had just tried the handle it would have opened and saved all that bother. Uggghhhhh!" The 'uggghhhh' was Kenny's response to the boot that thudded into his midriff and forced all the air out of his lungs. "Fucking smartass!" said the policeman aiming another kick. ------- Chapter 13 Mark's chin rested on Flick's shoulder as he peered down at the pages of the report Drew had shared with them both. He grunted to let Felicity know he had finished reading the pages that were currently open and was ready for her to turn over to the next ones. Together they quickly absorbed the remaining pages and Flick turned her head slightly to meet Mark's eyes and confirm he was finished. "So, let me just make sure I've got this right and we are all on the same page here," said Mark. "This teacher - Kenny MacGovern - has somehow managed to single-handedly raise the performance of three different schools to twenty percent above the national average. "A high percentage of those he has taught have gone on to be really successful in their chosen professions. "These successful people that MacGovern taught are all making monthly donations to an organisation called the Church of Cyberscience. "MacGovern also taught the Dundee policeman who stopped me for speeding and for having a dodgy tail-light. That policeman is also making monthly donations to the Church of Cyberscience. "The Church of Cyberscience has recently purchased two Glasgow casinos, casinos that seem to be under the management of the Hamilton brothers - two of Glasgow's gang leaders. "The Hamiltons do not appear to be in control of the Church of Cyberscience as they are making their donations every month too - which tends to suggest perhaps that the Church of Cyberscience is controlling them. "The man who tried to attack me with a knife - the solicitor called Jason Welsh - is also making monthly donations to the Church of Cyberscience. He doesn't appear to have any connection to the Hamiltons and he won't talk about the Church despite the fact that he claims the 'church' whispered inside his head and told him to attack and kill me. "Is that about the size of it?" Mark finished. "There still seems to be far more questions than answers," complained Flick. "How could MacGovern achieve those improvements in school results all on his own? How is MacGovern connected to the Church of Cyberscience? By the way, I notice that MacGovern doesn't appear to be making monthly donations. "What in the name of Christ is the Church of Cyberscience? What connects all of these people to MacGovern and the Church? Most important of all, if the Hamiltons and Welsh are somehow being controlled by this church, why does it want Mark dead?" "Okay, okay. I didn't claim to have all the answers, just that I'd made a significant breakthrough," said Drew a little defensively. "I've talked to my boss and agreed that I should bring this MacGovern character in for questioning. Maybe then we'll get some answers." "Wouldn't it be better to simply investigate him first rather than alert him? Surely the more information you have before you confront him the better? At least, that's how I normally go about these things," pitched in Mark, his investigative journalist's instincts kicking in. "I can't think of much else we could do," responded Drew. "I've had someone trying to unearth anything they can about the Church of Cyberscience but all I can get is its registered company address and the names of the company officer bearers. The address is a private estate in Fife and the officers are two of the names who are making monthly donations. One is a lawyer and one a senior executive with our biggest pension company - I can't find anything unusual about either of them. "The Hamiltons are another dead-end and Jason Welsh either can't or won't tell me anything about this church. So far as I can see PC Colin MacSween in Dundee has done nothing illegal - you were speeding Mark and there's no law against making donations to charity so far as I'm aware. I can't just haul in a policeman and give him a grilling without good grounds! "I've sent officers to each of the three schools where MacGovern has taught - the last one is where he is currently the headteacher. Nothing. Zilch. Nada. No one has a bad word to say about the man. For all intents and purposes he is a very well respected teacher who delivers astonishing results. "Felicity has just laid out the big questions we need answered. If you can tell me how to go about answering any of them without pulling MacGovern in for questioning then I'm all ears," said Drew. "Well, how about just putting MacGovern under surveillance to see who he meets? Can't you get a phone tap or something to listen in to his calls? There must be more you can do without tipping the guy off that you're interested in him. Once he knows the police are possibly on to him he'll cover his tracks so you'll never find anything," said Drew. "You've been watching too much TV son. I don't have the manpower to put anybody under surveillance and it's only the security services that go in for all that James Bond wire tapping stuff. I still think the best way forward is to bring MacGovern in and put him under the microscope." "I agree with Mark. It sounds like there is much more you need to know before you start questioning this man. Your approach seems to be based on the hope that he will tell you the answers but how likely is that? The best way to get him to open up is to be able to demonstrate that you already know most of what's going on. If you're just going to go on a fishing trip he'll spot that right away and just clam up. There must be more that we can do," urged Flick. Inside his head, Drew quietly agreed with what Mark and Felicity were saying. Bringing MacGovern in for questioning was a big gamble to take and it could go spectacularly wrong. "Maybe it would be worthwhile putting MacGovern under surveillance. Didn't the Chief offer me additional resources this afternoon? Why don't I just take him up on his offer and watch this guy for a week or so to see where that leads us?" he thought. "Surely you must have enough manpower to watch this guy for a while?" Mark pressed again. Drew shrugged. He wasn't the kind of person to stick stubbornly to his guns when he could see his own ideas weren't necessarily the best. Experience had taught him that pride did come very much before a fall and he was willing to follow whatever approach got results. "I might be able to twist the Chief Superintendent's arm to give me some more men," he replied now. "You're both possibly right. It might be better to watch MacGovern for a week or so and see whether that gives us any clues as to how all the pieces of this jigsaw are connected." ------- More officers piled into the computer room and Kenny quickly found himself hauled to his feet, pressed forcefully face-first up against the wall and handcuffs were secured around his wrists. One of the officers spun him around once the cuffs were in place and he was able to watch what was going on. Another man who had entered the room thrust an official looking notice under his nose. "This is a search warrant authorising us to legally search this house and the surrounding estate," the officer barked, "consider yourself nicked you disgusting little pervert." Kenny wished he could shrivel up and die on the spot. He wished the ground would open up and give him somewhere to hide from the disgusted looks he was getting from all of the officers in the room. It was clear they somehow knew about his involvement with the young girls and their contempt for him was written in the expressions they wore. His shoulders slumped and the shame of what he had done washed over him once again. The officers continued to taunt him as they searched the room and there was no escape for Kenny from their obvious loathing. "Get your jollies from preying on little girls do you? Just wait until you see how they treat your kind inside son. All the hardest criminals want to see your kind pay a price. In no time at all you're down to get a visit from 'Mr Big' in your cell at night. I'd put a bet on that you'll be passed round the prison before the week's out. Can you feel your arse being burst open pervert? Can you!?" "Is that the only way you can get your pathetic little excuse for a cock hard? Is it? Interfering with little girls? You're fucking sick! I hope he's right, I hope the cons ream you out good and proper!" One man in plain clothes seemed to be in charge. "Okay you lot, can the remarks and get out of this room so the techies can get access to the computers and the cameras." Kenny was hustled towards the door and he called out a warning over his shoulder. "Whatever you do, don't turn the other computer on or everything on it will be lost," he pleaded. Kenny had had to come to a split second decision. Let the police turn on the PC and perhaps risk all of the data being wiped or warn them so that it would be safe. If it was wiped then he might be better off in terms of whatever charges the police were intent on bringing against him. The down side was if the data was wiped he might never be able to trace who had been controlling him. For Kenny, finding out who was behind all of this was more important and so he warned the policemen what could happen. He wished now he had simply disconnected the PC from the Internet by disabling the internal wireless card. A policeman took up position on each side of him and took his elbows, urging him down the hallway and through the smashed front door. Kenny found himself thrust into the back of a waiting police car - one of the officers pushing his head down so he didn't bang it as he ducked into the rear seat. He watched the door slam shut and through the window he saw two men in full length white coveralls approaching the house. He guessed these were the technicians and he hoped that they would heed the warning he had given. As the car pulled away down the drive, he took one last look out of the rear window at the Cambo House Estate. He wasn't sure what was in store for him now but it wouldn't be pleasant. ------- The Hamilton brothers were extremely agitated. The contract killer from Liverpool had supplied a number that could be used, but only in emergencies. The brothers had tried the number repeatedly but the phone wasn't answered and it didn't trip through to a message service. Roddy and Duncan had been trying to stop the 'hit' on Mark MacGhee for most of the day. They couldn't have explained why it was important to cancel the killing or why they had changed their minds about the journalist. They just knew that nothing else mattered as much as stopping the killer from carrying out the job he had been paid for. The fact that they were unable to do what they wanted to, what they absolutely need to, was driving both men close to the edge of sanity. Their minds blanked out everything else apart from cancelling the contract and the tension inside the room was almost tangible, almost a physical thing, the longer they went without being able to make contact with the paid killer. "Are you sure there's no other way of contacting this guy?" Roddy demanded. "Positive. These people are very security conscious - what else do you expect given what they do for a living? If there was another way I'd have already tried it! Now give me fucking peace!" barked Duncan in response, the tension he was experiencing coming to the surface. Duncan hit redial on his mobile phone and his eyes widened in surprise when he realised his call had been answered. Before the person on the other end of the line even had a chance to speak, Duncan shouted out his orders. "This is Glasgow. All bets are off. You'll still get the final part of the fee, but all bets are off. Do I make myself clear?" "It's your money and it's no skin off my nose whether I do the job or not - just so long as I get paid," said the voice on the other end of the connection. "Fine. Just forget you even heard this guy's name. The rest of the money is already in the account you set up," replied Duncan. "It's always nice to get paid for doing nothing," the contract killer said as he cut the connection. "It's done," Duncan said to his brother. "Thank god for that," Roddy responded. The tension in the brothers seeped magically away now that they had achieved what had become an obsessive, all consuming objective. Neither of them thought to question what they had just gone through. ------- Drew knocked on the Chief Superintendent's door for the second time that day. He heard Hugh Graham call out, inviting him to enter the office. "Back again so soon Drew, what can I do for you now?" the Chief asked. "Well, I don't want to appear too keen or too greedy but you know you offered me some additional resources this morning? I'd like to take you up on your offer if that's okay." "What is it you need?" asked Hugh Graham. "I'm thinking that it would be a good idea to put this Kenny MacGovern character under surveillance for a wee while, just to see who he is in contact with. I'm going to pull him in eventually but before I do that I'd like to get a better picture of who he's talking to, who he might be working with." "That sounds like a very good idea, Drew. I've already organised things so that you've got access to more manpower if you need it. This case has all the makings of a major coup, don't let me down son," replied the Chief. Drew nodded his thanks and backtracked through the office door. He knew the duty sergeant would have details of the officers that had been made available and he went in search of him to set the surveillance up. His earlier investigations had of course identified the school where MacGovern was currently the headteacher and had also thrown up the address of the flat where the teacher lived. Those would be the starting points for the watch he would set up. An hour later, two men having been briefed and dispatched to stake out the teacher, Drew called it a day and headed home for some much-needed sleep. He used his hands-free set in the car to call Mark as he made his way across Glasgow. "Mark? It's Drew. Just to let you both know that I managed to persuade the Chief to give me some additional manpower. I've already got the teacher staked out and I'll let you know if anything interesting comes up. Keep me informed of where you're going." "Excellent! We'll try to keep our heads down. Flick and I are going to research that group you mentioned - the Bilderberg Group. The way you described it made it sound as if it's just the kind of group who could be raising money from a the kind of people we know are connected with the Church of Cyberscience. We're also going to keep trying to find out anything about the Church itself." "Well, good luck with that. I don't fancy your chances to be honest, but keep in touch." "Will do. Speak to you later," said Mark. Mark and Flick had decided to leave the Police College and Drew was happy to help them on their way - both of them were after all still wanted in connection with the fire and the death of the man in Ratagan. Rather than try to sweet talk another of the trainee policemen into giving them a lift, Flick had suggested they simply hire a car. It was a simple matter to have the hire company drop the car off at Tulliallan and Mark wondered why he hadn't thought of it before. "I guess I'm destined to be the brains of this marriage," laughed Flick. Once they were mobile again, the two of them debated where they should go. "We can't stay around Glasgow or most of the central belt - too many people, too many coppers and too many potential killers!" said Flick. "We've already left a trail in the North too and the police will definitely be on the look-out for us there. That only leaves the Borders or Dumfries/Galloway," Mark suggested. "I've never been to Galloway. That's as good a reason as any for heading there." "Okay, Galloway it is," confirmed Mark, slipping the hire-car into gear and pulling into traffic. ------- Detective Inspector Roger Black was the man who had led the raid on Cambo House. He was sitting in his office now, reading the preliminary report on the findings from the search of the house and surrounding area. Black silently cursed himself and his men for not being quicker into the house. MacGovern's comment about the door being open had proved to be true and Roger knew that those vital minutes taken to break the door down had undoubtedly given the teacher time to do something to the memory stick that had been attached to one of the computers. The report he was reading tended to confirm that. The downstairs accommodation was searched first. It comprised three reception rooms, a large kitchen, a very large dining room, a gym and swimming pool and what appears to have been used as a computer room. The suspect, Kenneth MacGovern, was apprehended in the computer room. At the time of entry he was engaged in some activity on one of the computers. This PC was on and had a USB memory stick in one of the front USB ports. Technical experts advise that the PC itself had little of interest on its hard disc. The main function of the computer seems to have been as a controller for the surveillance cameras mounted inside the computer room. All of the recorded footage stored on the hard disc has been examined but all it shows is the suspect himself working at the other computer in the room. There is one other clip - a clip of PC Harris undertaking a search of the room sometime before the raid took place. Unfortunately this clip has somehow been deleted. Roger laughed out loud when he read that part. PC Harris' search had of course been illegal and if it came to light it would completely ruin any case they might have against MacGovern. If the grounds for getting the search warrant were proven to be illegal, every piece of evidence gathered as part of the search would become inadmissible. Whoever had deleted the clip of Harris' earlier search had realised that and taken steps to remove the damaging footage. The USB memory stick appears to be both password protected and encrypted. Our technicians advise that they haven't come across anything like this before - it certainly doesn't appear to be a commercial security product that has been used and the technicians have been unable to access the data on the stick. Analysis of the PC's hard disc suggests that the suspect was working from the memory stick immediately prior to his arrest. It is possible that he was setting the security and password in an attempt to stop us from accessing the data. The second computer was switched off at the time of the raid and the technicians disconnected the CPU and brought it back to the laboratories for examination. The technicians didn't realise that the unit has an integral wireless card. When the CPU was turned on it connected itself to the Strathclyde Police wifi system in the lab. The technicians didn't realise this immediately and advise that within minutes of the PC being switched on; a significant amount of data appears to have deleted itself. Investigations are still ongoing but the technicians believe that the PC may have been accessed remotely through the Internet connection. The PC has been shut down again for now. Black's face grew angry at this last part. MacGovern had warned them not to turn the computer on and it seemed that his warning should have been heeded. Roger puzzled for a moment as to why the suspect would want to preserve whatever was on the computer? That didn't add up to the actions of a man trying to hide something. Also recovered from the computer room was a spiral notebook containing extensive notes. Initial analysis of the notes revealed details of a number of sexual episodes between the suspect and several different girls. The notes suggest that all of these girls are under the age of consent and that the suspect was somehow controlling them. There is no suggestion of how that was achieved. From this early analysis the notebook also contains other details that may be relevant to the investigation. These include the fact that a large number of the suspect's pupils also seem to have been controlled in some way to enhance their academic performance or to modify their behaviour. There is also reference to a Roddy and Duncan Hamilton together with details that they have been ordered to carry out the killing of a journalist - one Mark MacGhee. Enquiries are already underway to try and track down the journalist and prevent any attempt on his life. Finally, there are numerous references to an organisation that has been established called the 'Church of Cyberscience'. The notes indicate that this organisation has been established to enable the suspect to begin to raise funds by having former pupils donate money each month. There are no details in the notes of how these donations are made, where the funds might be or any mention of the names of those involved. Roger rubbed his eyes, trying to shake of the tiredness that threatened to overwhelm him. It had been a long day. The suggestion in the report that the suspect was somehow controlling so many people seemed far-fetched to him. How could somebody do that? He scribbled notes in the margins of the report - notes to highlight the lines of enquiry he would want followed up and also areas where his questioning of Kenny MacGovern would focus. He read on. Nothing else of any interest was found in the computer room. Other evidence gathered on the ground floor came from the second of the reception rooms. It appears that this room has been turned into a 'studio'. A number of top of the range digital video recorders and digital cameras were recovered from this room. Initial examination found that all of the devices had been used but no footage or images remain. The backdrop and furniture in the room have been matched to images contained on the 'sugar&spice' website however, establishing a link between the location and the web-site. Nothing else was recovered from the ground floor and the only other interesting items found during the search of the house are an extensive range of clothing for girls aged between twelve and fourteen years of age. Again some of this clothing has been matched to clothing worn by girls featured on the 'sugar&spice' web-site. Black smiled to himself. He had tangible evidence now linking the suspect with the underage girls and the web-site. He was sure his interrogation would reveal more, he was certainly looking forward to it. ------- Kenny paced up and down in the close confinement of a small police cell. It was Spartan - painted concrete floor, walls and ceiling with a bare mattress lying on the floor. Everything about his arrest had happened in such a rush that only now did Kenny have time to try and think about what kind of trouble he might be in. The time from when the cameras had recorded the stranger in the house to the police raid had been pretty short he realised. The footage was time-stamped so he knew there had been barely an hour between the two. That suggested the police had moved heaven and earth to get a search warrant authorised. Kenny replayed his arrest in his head. He knew that the references to 'little girls' from the officers could only mean that they had some idea about what he had been doing with his young pupils. How they had found that out he had no idea, neither was he sure about the extent of their knowledge. He knew it was only a matter of time before they would want to interrogate him and he was thinking furiously about how he would approach that. Much depended on what they already knew but they for sure wouldn't reveal that to him. He tried to go over the details that he might have written in his notepad, as all of that was now available to them. His thoughts were racing. "Thank god I had time to secure the memory stick before they burst in. I know they'll never be able to crack the protection on that. "They will have the names of some of the girls I've slept with though, I wrote their names down in the notepad. Of course, I could deny everything. If the programme does what I think it does, none of the girls will ever admit that they slept with me. Their programming just won't allow it. "Who else have I named? Shit! The Hamiltons! The whole thing with the journalist is written down and the police have got it now. My only chance there is that the Hamiltons have managed to call of the killing. Without a body it might be difficult for the police to pin anything on me. "What else will they have found? I didn't leave any film or pictures in any of the cameras so they shouldn't have any of that. They might know about the web-site though. If they're willing to pay the membership fees then they could have accessed the movies on the Platinum version of the site. I guess they could match the room and the girls on the web-site with the room in the house and the girls I've named in my notebook. I don't appear in any of the movies though and again the girls will swear blind they don't know anything about the web-site and certainly will deny that I took any dodgy film of them. Anybody could have used the room; anybody could have made the movies. There is nothing specific linking them to me - it's all circumstantial. "I don't think I wrote down any specific details about the Church of Cyberscience offshore account or about the number of people making donations. There is certainly nothing about the web-site and the overseas stuff so if they don't already know about any of that they'll be none the wiser now. "The notebook is possibly the only real problem then unless MacGhee is dead. How do I explain that? It's all in my handwriting so I can't deny I wrote it. I need to invent something that could explain what's in there. I also need to think about whether I need a solicitor before I answer any questions." Having gone through things in his head, Kenny felt a little better about his situation. Without any statements from the girls involved or any other evidence he didn't think the police had anything that would stick. "They moved too quickly! The idiots rushed in and I think I might just be lucky." His main concern now was whether they did anything that would lead to the loss of his only link back to whoever was controlling him. He had shouted at them not to turn the other PC on, but would they follow his advice? It was unlikely he thought. Losing that data might mean he couldn't ever trace who was responsible for all this. He knew there were other bits of data that could be lost - the whole database of the people who had been exposed to his programme for example. Kenny could remember some of them but nowhere near all of the people he now knew had been programmed over the years. If that database was lost he would never be able to track down and 'fix' those who had been 'infected'. There was also the little matter of the Church of Cyberscience offshore account and all of the money that was in there. The access codes and password etc were all held on the computer. They were so complex that there was no way he would ever have been able to remember them. The web-site was a different matter. So long as he had access to a computer linked to the Internet he would be able to navigate to where the site was currently hosted. Kenny stopped pacing up and down the claustrophobic cell and sat on the ratty looking mattress. He tried to prepare himself for the interrogation that would take place soon enough. "If I'm lucky I can get away with this and have them return all of my belongings to me. I won't have much time after that to try and track down who is really to blame for all this so I need to plan how I'm going to do that. He poured his scorn on the men who had arrested him and the methods they had used - including the kicks that he had taken and the petty name calling he had been subjected to. "With idiots like these people in charge of catching criminals it's no wonder the country is in such a mess! They couldn't catch a cold." ------- Chapter 14 The controller sat alone, a smug smile firmly in place. The tip-off to the police had achieved the desired results - Kenny had been arrested. Even if he knew the truth about what had been happening over the past eight years, there was no way he could share that with anyone else and hope to be believed. Even better than having Kenny out of the way, the police must have turned his computer on. The controller had been able to copy and then delete the database of all those Kenny had programmed and had also recovered details of the Church's offshore bank account. There was no need for Kenny MacGovern anymore. The teacher had to suffer though. It would be good to see him publicly humiliated, completely hung out to dry. The controller reached out and picked up the telephone, dialling a number that was written down on a scrap of paper. "Hello? Is that Sky 24-hour news? Yes, you might want to pick up on the fact that the police in Glasgow have arrested a headteacher for having sex with a whole host of his young pupils. He has also been running a porn web-site featuring underage girls and charging other perverts to watch. "No, I don't want to give you my name. Just check it out with the police, you'll find out that it's all true." The smug smile grew even larger as the phone was replaced into its cradle. Kenny MacGovern's world was about to collapse around him. ------- Kenny sat opposite DI Roger Black in the interview room. Another policeman, this one uniformed, stood with his back against the wall and to the side of the door. Kenny had already been reminded of his rights and advised that the interview would be recorded. He had decided to go ahead with the interrogation without the need for a solicitor - somehow he thought that would send a message to the police. He had nothing to fear! "Ok. For the record my name is Detective Inspector Roger Black. It's 07:30 on the twenty ninth of August and I am about to interview Mr Kenneth MacGovern. Also present at this time is Police Constable Steven Hill. Roger didn't waste any more time but simply launched into to his questions. "Do you know a Glasgow journalist by the name of Mark MacGhee?" Kenny considered the question carefully before answering. Clearly the police saw that part of his notes as the most damaging. He guessed that made sense - murder, or at least commissioning murder, was a greater crime than having sex with minors. He knew he couldn't deny knowing MacGhee as his name and the fact that Kenny had ordered the Hamiltons to kill the journalist was written down in the notebook. "Vaguely," he replied. Kenny had decided his strategy was going to be to keep his answers as short as possible. The less he said, the less risk there was that he would make a mistake and let something slip or trip himself up. "Is this your notebook?" Roger asked, holding up a transparent plastic evidence bag in front of Kenny. Kenny peered at the handwriting through the plastic and saw that it was indeed the notebook that he had used to record details of the e-mails as he read through them. "It looks like my writing so I guess the answer is yes," he replied. "Can you explain to me why you asked two Glasgow hard men to kill Mark MacGhee?" "I didn't." "Look MacGovern. You know and I know that the fact that you ordered the Hamiltons to kill the journalist is written down in this notebook in your own handwriting. You can't deny it!" Roger barked across the table. Once again Kenny paused before replying. "I'm not denying what's written in the notebook. I am denying however, that I ever ordered such a thing to really happen." "How do you know the Hamiltons? How is it that a teacher is able to order around two of Glasgow's most senior villains?" "I don't know them as such. I have read about them in the newspapers and I know their reputation but I've never met them. I'll repeat, I didn't order them to do anything, certainly not to kill Mr MacGhee." Kenny knew he was taking a gamble by claiming he had never met the Hamiltons. It was a matter of record that he had been their teacher at one time. If the police knew that then he planned on simply claiming that it was impossible to remember all of the kids he had taught over the years. He wasn't surprised however, that the detective didn't pick him up on that point, he didn't think they would have made the connection. "So, let me get this straight. You admit you know Mark MacGhee. You claim you know of the Hamiltons but you've never met them and didn't order them to kill the journalist?" Roger asked. "That's correct officer." "Then why is it written down in this book?" Roger demanded, shaking the evidence bag at Kenny once again. "Surely you know the difference between fact and fiction officer?" Kenny couldn't stop the merest hint of a smile from reaching his lips. "What? Don't try and come the smartass with me you little shit!" screamed Black, tiny drops of spit spraying from his mouth. "Are you suggesting that the notes in this book are all your imagination?" "You know what they say officer - everybody has at least one book in them. This is mine. I want to make it as real as possible so I plan to use some real characters although I'll probably change the names for the final version. I'm hoping using real people will help me develop the characters much easier, you know, bring them to life." This had been the only plausible explanation Kenny could think of to explain the notes in the book. He knew it was very thin, but he couldn't come up with anything else so he planned to stick to it. "And I suppose that's why you've used the names of Leona and Kim as well?" Roger asked. "That's right." "And having sex with them and putting them on the Internet is all part of your story too is it?" Black demanded, the sarcasm dripping from his words. "Yes," Kenny replied. "Then how do you explain the fact that both of those girls appear on a website called sugar&spice?" "Ah, I think I see your problem officer. You really think I have had sex with these girls and that I filmed them and put them on the Internet? The truth is that I saw them on the Internet and recognised them. That's what gave me the idea for the book in the first place - I could see that kind of plot having mass appeal. I can assure you that I have had nothing to do with filming the girls nor have I had any kind of sexual relationship with either of them," said Kenny. Roger's face was steadily growing a deep shade of red as he listened to the arrogant and patronising tone of his suspect. "How then do you explain the fact that the room these girls were filmed in is in your house, in fact just next door to the room your were arrested in? How do you explain that the clothes the girls are wearing in the film are in a wardrobe upstairs in the same house?" "Very simple officer. I've only lived in the house less than a year. The cameras and clothing were there when I moved in. I found the name of the web-site on a scrap of paper in that room and looked it up on the Internet out of curiosity. That's when my idea for a book began. Anyway, it wouldn't be a crime to film the girls and put them on the Internet. Would it?" Roger couldn't quite believe what he was hearing. "As a teacher don't you think you have a responsibility for the welfare of these girls? Shouldn't your first duty have been to inform the authorities when you recognised the girls on the web-site rather than dream up some sick idea for a book?" Black challenged. "But the web-site seemed pretty tame - more of a teen model kind of thing than anything else. I agree that some of the images I saw were in bad taste but there was no nudity of any kind so I don't see what I would be reporting to the authorities. I can assure you officer; the fashion sense of young girls nowadays doesn't leave much to the imagination. I should know, I see them every day in school." "But this web-site has movies of both of these girls engaging in sexual acts!" said Black, his voice rising once more. "I'm sorry officer, I didn't see any such images," Kenny replied firmly. Roger realised that MacGovern was claiming not to have signed up to the web-site and therefore hadn't got beyond the soft images the home page showed. He tried to control his growing rage and switched his line of questioning. "So, are you also claiming that you haven't been applying some kind of mind control to a large number of your pupils over the years?" Roger demanded. "Did you really mean to say that out loud officer? Do you know how stupid that sounds? How could anybody possibly believe that I'm some kind of mind controller? That's pure fantasy," Kenny laughed. Roger lost it. "You little bastard!" The uniformed officer leapt across the room to stop the detective from launching himself at Kenny. Kenny pushed himself back from the table, a look of fear in his eyes in response to the sheer violence emanating from the policeman. He realised he had pushed it a little too far with his last answer and mentally warned himself not to get too cocky. Roger pushed himself out of his chair, letting it fall over with a crash. He shrugged the uniformed officer off and stepped away from the table. "Get that little shit out of my sight," he barked. The constable was only too happy to take Kenny back to his cell to avoid anything more serious happening in the interview room. ------- "It's been as quiet as the grave all night sir. No sign of anyone in the flat. We've taken a chance and spoken to some of the neighbours and they say they haven't seen Mr MacGovern for months. We've checked with the school too and he hasn't showed up for work this morning. No explanation given for that apparently." Drew pondered the words of the PC who was one of the pair dispatched to carry out the surveillance of Kenny MacGovern. What he had thought was going to be a straightforward job seemed to be turning into something altogether more difficult. "Are you telling me that no one knows where he is?" he asked eventually. "That's right sir," came the reply. "Well bloody find him!" barked Drew. "You're supposed to be a police officer." ------- Mark and Felicity had found a small guesthouse in Garlieston and booked in for several nights. Felicity wasn't very impressed and as soon as she could she logged on to the Internet using her laptop, looking for something a better. She looked up holiday cottages in the Galloway area and found a Hoseasons holiday site with pine cabins. "What do you think of this?" she asked Mark. Mark wandered over and looked at the laptop's screen over her shoulder. Felicity had clicked on one of the images on the web-site to display a view of one of the cabins. It looked lovely, framed by tall pine trees and set a good distance away from the next identical cabin. She clicked to move through three further images which showed the inside of the cabin and the various facilities it offered. "That looks perfect," said Mark, "where is it and does it have Internet access?" He knew they would need Internet access if they were going to continue their investigations into the Church of Cyberscience and the Bilderberg group. Flick scrolled down, quickly reading the promotional text for the cabins. "It's very near here - in fact we must have passed it on the way. It's in Newtown Stewart. The sites called The Conifers and it does have Internet connections. We might be in luck. It's the end of August so most families will have already had their holiday and the kids will be back at school. That should mean the site will have vacancies. There's a number here that I can ring. Will I give it a go?" "It would certainly be better than this place," Mark replied. A quick phone call confirmed that there was a cabin available and Flick used her credit card to book it for the next week. "The woman told me it should be available to move into after eleven tomorrow morning," she informed Mark. "Okay. Why don't we go out and see if we can get something to eat in this sleepy town?" he replied. ------- Roger Black sat slumped at his desk, his face a mask of resignation. He had driven himself and his team unrelentingly over the past two days. The law only allowed him to hold a suspect for up to six hours without charge and he had formally charged Kenny MacGovern with having sex with a minor before that limit was reached. While he took responsibility for questioning the teacher he had other officers out looking to gather further information and evidence to firm up the charge and hopefully enough additional grounds to bring other charges too. One by one the avenues he had expected to deliver the damning evidence had proved fruitless. All of the girls mentioned in MacGovern's notes had denied any relationship with the teacher and refused to answer any questions about how they had been filmed or by who. Some of the other pupils that were named in Kenny's notes had also been contacted but every one of them had denied anything out of the ordinary had happened while Kenny had been their teacher. All that Roger got back from his team were the glowing testimonials each former pupil provided on MacGovern - stressing what a great teacher they all thought he was. So far no one had been able to track down the journalist - Mark MacGhee - but without a body there was little Roger could do about charging Kenny with commissioning murder. His own interviews with MacGovern had produced nothing. The teacher steadfastly stuck to his explanation that his notes were the basis for a book he intended to write and as such were pure fiction. Roger had pressed him very hard over a series of six interviews but he couldn't crack the teacher's story. ------- Lying in his cell, Kenny was once more reviewing the events of the past two days. He had been formally charged with having sex with a minor and the same detective had interviewed him six times now. Each session covered the same ground, with the same questions being posed in slightly different ways in the hope that he would slip up somewhere. Kenny didn't think he had made any slips and he was growing increasingly confident that his guess that the police had moved too soon was accurate. By keeping his lies simple he was able to make sure his answers remained consistent over the course of each interview. The detective had pressed and pressed on each detail contained in his notebook but it was becoming clear to Kenny that the police didn't have anything else to go on. They couldn't have cracked the security on his memory stick and it appeared as if the journalist must be alive and well or he guessed he would have been charged in connection with his death. There was little doubt that they would have approached some of the girls - probably Leona and Kim by now. The fact that the detective hadn't introduced any new information in his interviews tended to suggest that the girls hadn't told them anything. Kenny's thoughts were interrupted by the sound of keys unlocking his cell door. "Here we go again," he thought, mentally preparing himself for another barrage of questions. The uniformed officer led him down the corridor once more but instead of turning right as they had on each of the previous occasions, he turned left and led Kenny through the station and out to the front desk. Not a word was said as the possessions that had been taken from him on his arrival at the police station were placed on the desk in front of him. "What's going on?" Kenny asked. "I believe the charges against you have been dropped, sir," the officer replied, avoiding making eye contact with him. "What!?" "You're free to go sir. The items taken from your house can be recovered from this address," the officer said, handing over a slip of paper with an address scribbled on it. Without any further ado that was it - Kenny was released and free to go. "So that's it? No apology or anything? Just - you're free to go?" Kenny asked. The officer simply nodded and walked away. Kenny walked from the station and wasn't surprised to find that it was raining. He hadn't been wearing a jacket when he had been arrested and he stood now in clothes he had worn for two days, as the rain soaked through him. He knew he had enough money in the house to pay for a taxi - even all the way back to Fife - so he flagged a passing black cab and told the driver where he wanted to go. The journey gave him time to think over his release. "I think I've just had a very lucky escape. The most important thing to do now is make sure I stay free until I've managed to piece together who is behind all this so I can prove my innocence. It might be a good idea to get out of dodge for a while. I think the best thing to do is to pack a bag and head off somewhere - maybe even abroad?" Once they arrived at Cambo House, Kenny had to force his way through the temporary repair that had been carried out to secure the smashed front door. He found enough cash to pay the cab driver and then phoned to arrange for someone to come out and replace the door right away. It only took another half an hour for him to take a quick shower and pack a small bag. He found his passport easily enough and made sure he collected up all the remaining cash that was lying around the house. After a last walk through the house to make sure everything was secure, he dumped the bag in the trunk and drove off without a backward look. ------- Drew MacIntosh was growing increasingly concerned. His 'watchers' had still not managed to track down Kenny MacGovern and the headteacher had now been missing for two days. Instead of mounting a surveillance exercise, Drew found himself considering breaking into the teacher's flat on the basis that no one knew where he was. Drew rationalised what he was planning on the basis that the man could be lying in the flat unconscious. In reality he was hoping there would be some clue inside the flat that might help him track MacGovern down. A quick trip to the Chief's office let him keep Hugh Graham in the picture and Drew then joined the two officers who had been sent out to keep an eye on MacGovern. All three made their way upstairs to the teacher's flat and they warned the neighbours about what they were planning to do and why. The two constables had one of the custom-built heavy metal battering-rams that were usually used to break down doors during drug-bust operations. It only took two thuds from the ram to gain entry to the flat, the wood splintering at its weakest point where the lock joined the doorframe. Drew led the way into the flat and quickly verified that MacGovern wasn't in any of the rooms. All three of them then began a hasty search for any clues as to the teacher's whereabouts. The thick layer of dust covering everything confirmed that no one had been in the flat for some time. Half an hour later they struck it lucky and hit paydirt. One of the constables found a folder containing details of the Cambo House Estate, including some legal documents relating to the purchase. "Sir, it looks as if Mr MacGovern has been involved in the purchase of a substantial property in Fife," he called out. Drew hurried to look at what the PC had found. He had to agree that the documents seemed to indicate that Kenny MacGovern was somehow tied up in the purchase of the large estate. The usual real estate agent documents were in the folder and the schedule had a number of photographs of the property and the grounds it sat in. "Would somebody tell me how a teacher could afford something like this?" Drew asked absently as he flicked through the documents. The question had been rhetorical and Drew was surprised when one of the PCs answered. "Perhaps he's won the lottery sir, or maybe he's come into an inheritance." "Are you sure you're a policeman son?" Drew fired back. "Come on, there's directions here. Let's go and take a butchers at Cambo House and see if our subject is there." ------- The controller had the Sky news channel playing on the TV, waiting for some sign that the tip-off to the broadcaster had been followed up. The phone call had been two days ago and something should have broken by now. That suggested that something had gone wrong and another quick phone call was probably in order. Yell.com provided the telephone number and the controller dialled. "Hello, Stuart Street police station. Can I help you?" "I'm trying to confirm that you have a Kenny MacGovern in custody?" the controller said. "Can I ask who is calling please?" "I work for Sky news and we've had a tip-off that you've arrested a teacher called Kenny MacGovern on child molesting and pornography charges," the controller replied. The fact that the caller knew that much convinced the policeman that the caller was indeed a journalist. "I can't comment on specific cases but I can confirm that we have no one of that name in custody." The policeman was quite pleased with himself for coming up with that answer. He hadn't lied and he believed he had avoided leaking any information to the media. However, the controller knew that Kenny had been arrested and taken to the Stuart Street police station. The policeman's answer could only mean one thing. Kenny had somehow managed to get himself released without being charged. "I think some direct action might be called for," the controller thought, closing down the Yell.com website and searching for something else. ------- Drew could see that the front door was badly damaged as he pulled up outside Cambo House. He parked the car and all three of them got out to investigate. "It looks like there has been a temporary repair carried out," offered one of the constables. "I can see that, son. Try telling me something useful," Drew replied. He pushed his way into the house and called out to see if anyone was inside. It only took a few minutes to quickly go through the rooms, despite the size of the house. Drew's expression grew black when he came across the still dripping shower and the dirty clothes dropped in a heap on the floor. "We must have just missed whoever was here sir," said the unfortunate constable, stating the obvious once more. Before Drew could deliver another stinging remark, they heard another voice calling out. "Hello? Anybody home?" Drew walked quickly back downstairs and found a tradesman loitering just outside the damaged front door. "Are you Mr MacGovern?" the man asked. "No. Who are you?" Drew responded. "I'm the emergency joiner. Somebody called MacGovern phoned about half an hour ago and said he had a job that had to be done immediately. I can see why," the joiner said, looking at the smashed door. Drew shook his head at his bad luck. It seemed he had just missed MacGovern. He pushed past the joiner to make his way back to the car, almost tempted to leave the hapless constables behind. ------- Chapter 15 Kenny punched the postcode from the scrap of paper into the satnav so it would steer him to the address the policeman had given him when he had been released. His first priority was to recover his computer and the memory stick so he could restart his search for whoever was controlling him. The address proved to be a non-descript building in the heart of one of Glasgow's industrial estates. A small plaque to the side of the entrance declared what the premises were - Strathclyde Police - Technical Laboratory - he read. The procedure for recovering his property was the worst form of bureaucratic nightmare. Reams of forms had to be read and signed and he had to establish his own identity beyond any doubt. Fortunately he had his passport with him and the clerk behind the counter reluctantly accepted that as proof that he was who he claimed. All in all it took almost two hours before several large plastic bags containing his possessions were brought out. Kenny ignored the digital camera equipment and other odds and ends, instead making sure that the computer and the memory stick were in the bags before he would sign the final forms. The base unit for the computer was big enough to be immediately obvious but it took some rummaging to confirm that the memory stick was also there. Kenny slipped the stick into his pocket and also snagged his mobile phone from one of the bags. He signed the release forms and was able to leave the lab at last. Once back at his car, Kenny carefully placed the computer base unit on the back seat so that it wouldn't be bounced around and then he plugged his mobile into the charger unit mounted on his dashboard. He climbed in behind the wheel and headed back in the direction he had just come from. Kenny's destination now was back across Glasgow and eventually back into Fife. He decided that he would make for Rosyth, from where Scotland's only ferry link to mainland Europe sailed. He was taking a chance that he would be able to book onto the ferry once he turned up, but his knowledge of the link suggested it wasn't that busy and it was a fair bet there would be space. The journey up the A80/M80 and M9 to the Forth Road Bridge took less than an hour and Kenny was soon navigating his way through the little village of Rosyth. He skirted the large naval base and located the ferry terminal easily enough. He parked up in the large carpark and made his way to the booking office. Rosyth only had one outward sailing every two or three days. Kenny's luck held, as there was indeed a sailing due to embark and he had plenty of time to secure a berth. His gamble paid off when the booking clerk also confirmed there was plenty of space on the next sailing. He was able to produce his passport and the clerk helped him fill out the necessary paperwork then rang up the ticket and took Kenny's cash. With all of the prerequisite documentation, he returned to the car and moved over into those spaces clearly sign-posted for those planning on using the ferry that would need to pass through passport control. The ferry sailed at 17:00 and Kenny knew he had several hours to kill. He used some of that time to key details of where he wanted to go into is satnav unit. His plan once he docked in Belgium's Zeebrugge was to head for the South of Spain. That was about the only place outside of Scotland that he had any real knowledge of - having spent four different summer holidays in Spain's popular 'Costa' resorts. Programming the satnav took all of fifteen minutes and Kenny decided he still had plenty of time to make the short ten-minute trip from Rosyth into the much larger town of Dunfermline to pick up an essential item. He found a large Curry's electrical store easily enough and used his credit card to buy a powerful Toshiba notebook computer with built-in wireless functionality. Kenny also paid for an Internet service package and a 3G card to go with the computer so that he would be able to use it immediately. Within an hour he was back at Rosyth and joined the queue of cars going through the control point and rolling on to the large Superfast Ferry. ------- Drew was trying to catch up on some of his other cases when the phone on his desk rang. "MacIntosh," he answered. "Sir, it's Sergeant Miller at the front desk. I've got a young girl here asking to speak to someone about a Mr Kenny MacGovern. Isn't that the guy you're interested in?" "I'll be right down," Drew replied. He dropped the phone in to its cradle and dashed from his office. When Drew arrived at the front desk of the station it was to find the duty sergeant talking to a young girl of perhaps fourteen or fifteen. "Sir, this is Kim Park. She says she needs to speak to somebody about Kenny MacGovern." "Thanks Sergeant, I'll take it from here," Drew replied. He turned to the young girl and smiled, trying to put her at her ease. "Why don't we just find somewhere a little more private to talk?" Drew raised the flap on the counter to let the girl through and gently steered her in the direction of one of the interview rooms. He called over his shoulder at the desk Sergeant. "Miller. Could you rustle up a can of coke or something for our visitor?" Drew settled the girl into a chair and waited until the Sergeant brought a can of coke for her to drink before asking her what he could do to help. "Okay - Miss Park was it? The Sergeant said you wanted to speak to someone about Kenny MacGovern. What can I do to help you?" The girl was clearly very nervous at being inside the police station and she fidgeted, wringing her hands together and keeping her eyes focussed on her own lap. "It's okay, take your time," Drew encouraged her. "Ummm, some policemen came to my house to speak to me earlier this week," the girl managed to get out before stopping once more. Drew held his tongue, letting the silence draw the girl out. Inside he was seething - it appeared as if someone else was also investigating MacGovern. Why wasn't he aware of that? "They wanted to know about me and Mr MacGovern," she added eventually. Drew forced himself to remain quiet. "They wanted to know whether I had done anything with Mr MacGovern, you know, sex things. I told them I hadn't and that Mr MacGovern was the best teacher ever." The girl had clearly reached the most difficult point in what she had to say, as she stopped altogether and didn't appear to be able to go on. Drew heard her sobbing now and there was a definite trembling in her hunched shoulders. "It's okay, Kim. It's okay. You're not going to be in any trouble, I promise you. Just tell me what's wrong." "I lied," the girl blubbed, "I lied to the policemen. I ... I did ... I did have sex with Mr MacGovern. Lots of times." The admission seemed to break a dam and the girl's hands came up to cradle her face, as her sobbing grew in intensity. Drew sat stunned by the admission. What the hell was going on? He thought furiously about how to proceed and knew he had to call in re-inforcements. "Everything's going to be okay, Kim. I promise. Everything's going to be fine. Just wait here and I'll get somebody to help you clean up a little." The next hour or so was something of a blur for Drew. His first concern was for the girl's welfare and her state of mental health. He initially corralled a WPC to help and then managed to drag in a doctor and counselling specialist. Once he had those in place his next priority was to get some kind of statement from Kim Park, something that would stand up in court. He also asked for the opinions of the experts as to whether the girl would be able to stand up to the rigours of giving evidence in a court case. Once Drew was happy that these important things were underway he at last allowed his growing anger free rein. The fact that someone else had been investigating MacGovern without his knowledge incensed him and he was on the warpath trying to track down who was behind it. Unfortunately communications within the station weren't always as effective as they should be. Much depended on how up to date people were in opening up files and keeping the computer record system current so that cross-referencing would work. In this instance it appeared as if he himself was behind and hadn't logged his interest in Kenny MacGovern. Someone else was clearly in the same boat. When he re-checked the computer system he found that it had been refreshed and it now held details of the charge that had brought against the teacher and also the fact that it had been dropped. The officer in charge of the investigation was recorded as DI Roger Black - someone Drew knew quite well and someone he didn't like one little bit. "Shit!" he cursed when he saw the name. "The last thing I need right now is to get into a pissing contest with Black. I need to make sure the Chief backs me up and that I keep overall control over this. I'm not having that supercilious prick walking away with all the credit for my hard work!" "Isn't that just bloody typical! I've been trying to track MacGovern down for two days and he's been locked up in this station all that time. What a fucking shambles!" By the time the experts thought Kim Park had recovered enough to give a statement it was already after 18:00. The girl's parents had been contacted and had arrived at the station to be at their daughter's side. Mrs Park held her daughter's hand as she haltingly gave details of her relationship with Kenny MacGovern. Mr Park's face was grim and angry looking as he listened to the details of his fourteen-year-old daughter having full-blown sexual intercourse with her headteacher. Drew suspected that the man would like nothing more than to have the opportunity of getting his hands on MacGovern at that very moment. He took his time and gentled the girl through the process of making her statement then left the experts to discuss what would happen next with her and her parents. Drew himself made his next stop the Chief Superintendent's office so he could update Hugh Graham and enlist his support. "So, it's like this Chief - Roger Black seems to have acted on an anonymous tip-off. He managed to get a search warrant - I'm betting the grounds for that must have been a bit dodgy - and he hauled Kenny MacGovern in. He charged the guy with having sex with a minor and then couldn't make it stick so he had to let him go. "Black doesn't know anything at all about all the other stuff I've been working on and as far as I'm concerned he's had his try at MacGovern. I need your backing to warn him off so I've got a clear run at the teacher. I'm just waiting for the arrest warrant to be signed on the back of the statement from one of his young pupils." Hugh Graham mulled over the details of what Drew has just told him. He was certainly not averse to putting one over on his opposite number in the Child Protection Unit, Chief Superintendent Ernie MacKay. From what Drew had said MacKay's man had blown his opportunity and couldn't really complain therefore if he was now told to butt out completely. MacKay wouldn't like it but he would have to accept reality. "Okay Drew. Go ahead and assume you've got complete and sole authority. I'll make sure Black doesn't get in your way. He'll not be happy mind, so I hope you weren't expecting a Christmas card," Graham laughed. ------- "Duncan, have you heard about the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" Duncan Hamilton's face took on the glazed look that indicated the trigger phrase had done its work. On the other end of the phone the controller knew that it was time to pass on some new orders for the Hamilton brothers. "Get Roddy so that you can both hear this together," ordered the controller. Once the trigger phrase had been used on the second brother, the controller proceeded to put in place a safety net. Kim Park had already been ordered to make herself known to the police and to confess to having a sexual relationship with MacGovern. That should ensure he wouldn't be able to avoid being charged if and when he was re-arrested. But the controller had decided to take out an extra insurance policy this time, just in case the teacher continued to prove how slippery he was. "Boys, I want you to keep a close watch on Kenny MacGovern. You'll remember him - he was one of your teachers back in Glebe High School. His current address is an estate in Fife - the Cambo House Estate. If he's arrested and charged by the police in the next day or so then fine. If he isn't, I want you to remove him from the board once and for all. Have I made myself clear?" Both Roddy and Duncan confirmed that they knew what was required of them. "Very well. The Church of Cyberscience is ended," the controller said to finish the call. ------- Mark and Felicity had checked-in to the cabin at the The Conifers holiday park. With nothing much else to do, Flick had spent a lot of time trying to find out anything she could about the Church of Cyberscience. That had resulted in an entire day of frustration with absolutely nothing to show for her efforts. When she decided to switch tack and look into the background of the Bilderberg Group that all changed. She was inundated with sources when she ran an Internet search and spent hours wading through the detail. In the end she felt that the short summary on Wikipedia covered all of the main points about the Group and she saved that so she could share it with Mark. Mark spent ten minutes or so soaking up the main points in the Wikipedia article. Bilderberg Group From Wikipedia, the free encyclopaedia The Bilderberg Group, Bilderberg conference, or Bilderberg Club is an unofficial annual invitation-only conference of around 130 guests, most of whom are persons of influence in the fields of business, media and politics. The elite group meets annually at luxury hotels or resorts throughout the world - normally in Europe - and once every four years in the United States or Canada. It has an office in Leiden in the Netherlands. The 2007 conference took place from May 31 to June 3 at the Ritz-Carlton Hotel in Istanbul, Turkey. The 2008 conference took place in Chantilly, Virginia, United States. Origin The original Bilderberg conference was held at the Hotel de Bilderberg, near Arnhem in the Netherlands, from May 29 to May 31, 1954. The meeting was initiated by several people, including Joseph Retinger, concerned about the growth of anti-Americanism in Western Europe, who proposed an international conference at which leaders from European countries and the United States would be brought together with the aim of promoting understanding between the cultures of United States of America and Western Europe. Retinger approached Prince Bernhard of the Netherlands, who agreed to promote the idea, together with Belgian Prime Minister Paul Van Zeeland, and the head of Unilever at that time, the Dutchman Paul Rijkens. Bernhard in turn contacted Walter Bedell Smith, then head of the CIA, who asked Eisenhower adviser C. D. Jackson to deal with the suggestion. The guest list was to be drawn up by inviting two attendees from each nation, one each to represent conservative and liberal (both terms used in the American sense) points of view. The success of the meeting led the organisers to arrange an annual conference. A permanent Steering Committee was established, with Retinger appointed as permanent secretary. As well as organising the conference, the steering committee also maintained a register of attendee names and contact details, with the aim of creating an informal network of individuals who could call upon one another in a private capacity. Conferences were held in France, Germany, and Denmark over the following three years. In 1957, the first U.S. conference was held in St. Simons, Georgia, with $30,000 from the Ford Foundation. The foundation supplied additional funding of $48,000 in 1959, and $60,000 in 1963. Dutch economist Ernst van der Beugel took over as permanent secretary in 1960, upon the death of Retinger. Prince Bernhard continued to serve as the meeting's chairman until 1976, the year of his involvement in the Lockheed affair. There was no conference that year, but meetings resumed in 1977 under Alec Douglas-Home, the former British Prime Minister. He was followed in turn by Walter Scheel, ex-President of West Germany, Eric Roll, former head of SG Warburg and Lord Carrington, former Secretary-General of NATO. Attendees Attendees of Bilderberg include central bankers, defence experts, mass media press barons, government ministers, prime ministers, royalty, international financiers and political leaders from Europe and North America. Some of the Western world's leading financiers and foreign policy strategists attend Bilderberg. Donald Rumsfeld is an active Bilderberger, as is Peter Sutherland from Ireland, a former European Union commissioner and chairman of Goldman Sachs and of British Petroleum. Rumsfeld and Sutherland served together in 2000 on the board of the Swedish/Swiss engineering company ABB. Former U.S. Deputy Defence Secretary and former World Bank head Paul Wolfowitz is also a member. The group's current chairman is Etienne Davignon, the Belgian businessman and politician. Mainstream Criticism Critics claim the Bilderberg Group promotes the careers of politicians whose views are representative of the interests of multinational corporations, at the expense of democracy. Journalists who have been invited to attend the Bilderberg Conference as observers have discounted these claims, calling the conference "not much different from a seminar or a conference organised by an upscale NGO" with "nothing different except for the influence of the participants." Conspiracy Theories The group's secrecy and its connections to power elites encourages speculation and mistrust by such groups or individuals who believe that the group is part of a conspiracy to create a New World Order. This is further encouraged by the frequent use of the term 'New World Order' by its members when referring to their ultimate goal of world integration. The group is frequently accused of secretive and nefarious world plots by groups such as the John Birch Society. This thinking has progressively found acceptance within both elements of the populist movement and fringe politics. According to investigative journalist Chip Berlet, the prominent origins of Bilderberger conspiracy theories can be traced to activist Phyllis Schlafly. Radio host Alex Jones claims the group intends to dissolve the sovereignty of the United States and other countries into a supra-national structure similar to the European Union. From "The Hunt for Red Menace:" "The views on intractable godless communism expressed by [Fred] Schwarz were central themes in three other bestselling books which were used to mobilise support for the 1964 Goldwater campaign. The best known was Phyllis Schlafly's A Choice, Not an Echo which suggested a conspiracy theory in which the Republican Party was secretly controlled by elitist intellectuals dominated by members of the Bilderberger group, whose policies would pave the way for global communist conquest. Schlafly's husband Fred had been a lecturer at Schwartz's local Christian anti-communism Crusade conferences." Jonathan Duffy, writing in BBC News Online Magazine states "In the void created by such aloofness, an extraordinary conspiracy theory has grown up around the group that alleges the fate of the world is largely decided by Bilderberg." Denis Healey, a Bilderberg founder and former British Chancellor of the Exchequer, decries such theories. He was quoted by BBC News as saying "There's absolutely nothing in it. We never sought to reach a consensus on the big issues at Bilderberg. It's simply a place for discussion." Bilderberg has been accused of having kingmaker power as prominent politicians are seen to attend the group before being elected while their political rivals do not attend. "It certainly sounds like the same kind of people who appear on the Church Of Cybrescience bank account statements but there's an important difference," said Mark when he had finished reading. "What?" asked Flick. "Well, according to this, the Bilderberg Group only has two representatives from each country and they're all from America and Europe. Most of the people on our list come from Scotland. There's only a very few exceptions to that. I can't help but feel we have very different groups here. Flick immediately saw that Mark was right. "Well, we're no further forward then," she said in disgust. Their conversation was interrupted by the sound of Mark's mobile phone ringing. He snatched it up from the table it was sitting on and thumbed the key to connect the call. "Hello? Oh, hi Drew, what's new?" Once again Felicity was left hearing only one side of the conversation and Mark could read her frustration in her expression. He hammed it up to tease her a little. "No way! Really? That's really incredible. I'd never have guessed that." Felicity tried to get her ear to the phone as well as Mark's but he shrugged her aside, a teasing grin on his face. "You're being a beast MacGhee," she squealed, trying to snatch the phone away from him. Mark laughed. "No, it's Flick. She wants to hear what's going on and hasn't got the patience to wait until you've finished your call," Mark explained to Drew. "Okay, speak to you later." Flick leapt on him and began to drum her fists on his chest. "That wasn't nice!" "Easy, easy! If you'd stop attacking me I could tell you Drew's news!" said Mark. Flick let up on her assault and stepped back to give Mark some space. "Apparently another detective has been after Kenny MacGovern and even went so far as arresting him earlier this week. "That was all sparked by an anonymous tip-off that he was sleeping with some of his underage pupils. It seems that this other detective couldn't get anybody to testify against MacGovern and all the charges had to be dropped. "Drew says that one of the girls involved seems to have had a change of heart. She turned up at the station this afternoon to make a statement confirming that she has had sexual relations with MacGovern. Drew has got a warrant for MacGovern's arrest and he's trying to pick him up now. He thinks that he will be able to use this to get him to open up about some of the other stuff too." "Hasn't he learned a lesson? We both told him he needed to gather more detail before he brought MacGovern in. This other detective seems to have made that mistake and apparently he had to let MacGovern go. Isn't Drew just going to do the same thing? He might have to admit to having sex with a minor, but why does Drew think that will make him open up about anything else? It doesn't make sense to me," said Flick. "I agree sweetheart, but Drew's hell bent this time. I got the impression he's worried that MacGovern might just do a runner and he wants him before that happens." ------- Chapter 16 The ferry sailing was an overnight trip leaving Rosyth at 17:00 and docking in Belgium, at Zeebrugge, at 12:00 the following day. Kenny hadn't booked any accommodation so he settled himself down in one of the ferry's public lounge areas and passed some of the time by playing with his new computer. At first the 3G card allowed him to connect to the Internet but the ferry was soon out in the North Sea and coverage halted abruptly. Before that happened Kenny had managed to download some road maps of Western Europe and he familiarised himself with the route the satnav would guide him along once he was back on dry land. A google search led him to a website called 'viamichelin.co.uk' and that allowed him to enter his start and end points for his journey. The site then generated the best route and provided lots of useful detail. The journey planner set out details of the roads, the signs to look out for, distance travelled, where speed cameras were situated along the route, road tolls and even where the best places were to stop and take a break. There was a sidebar with adverts for places of interest to visit along the way and recommended hotels, restaurants and other useful information. Kenny assumed that the site made money through selling advertising space - whatever, it was certainly very useful. According to the site his total journey was just over 1,300 miles or 2,100 kilometres. It estimated that the total driving time would be 20hours and 21minutes. Kenny couldn't help but laugh at the web-site's apparent precision. He knew it would be foolhardy to try and travel all that way without a break so instead carefully thought about where he might break his journey. Once he was satisfied with his journey planning, Kenny paused to gather his thoughts. He had little doubt that the police would still be looking for evidence with which to pin something on him, that made leaving the country a good idea. "It's time I switched from running away back to being the hunter again though. I refuse to be one of life's victims - I will find out who is doing this and I will make them pay!" Kenny slipped the memory stick from his pocket and slid it into one of the USB ports on the notebook computer. He steeled himself and began to go through the e-mail messages once more, determined to keep searching for clues that would reveal who his controller was. ------- Drew had men waiting at the Cambo House Estate to arrest Kenny MacGovern whenever he returned. Details of the teacher's description and of the car he was driving had also been sent out to all mobile patrol cars. With little else to do or organise meantime, Drew decided it was time to have some fun and speak to DI Roger Black. He couldn't put his finger on any specific incident or issue that had led to the bad blood between himself and the other detective. It just seemed that from the first moment they met each other there was an instant and mutual dislike. Like to two rival alpha males, they appeared to instinctively view each other as opponents and that fuelled the feeling between them. Drew lifted his phone and punched in Black's extension number. "DI Black." "Roger, it's Drew MacIntosh. I'm sure you've heard the good news by now that I've got the lead in relation to Kenny MacGovern." Roger had indeed already had a phone call from his own Chief, Ernie MacKay, informing him that Drew was taking forward another case involving MacGovern. The Chief had made it clear that Roger's interest had to be at an end and that he shouldn't interfere in any way. He had tried to squirrel the details of what Drew was up to from MacKay, but had been told simply to stay out of the way. Roger had put up a spirited fight, claiming that if it was in any way connected to the investigation that he already run then it stood to reason that he should be in the lead, not MacIntosh. "Roger, drop it. That's an order," MacKay said, "you had your run at this chap and you dropped the ball. If I hear that you've in any way interfered in this case I'll have your balls. Do I make myself clear?" Roger knew MacKay well enough to know that the decision would not be reversed. That left him seething at his old rival appearing to have got one over on him. Now he had to suffer the indignity of MacIntosh phoning him - no doubt to gloat over the fact that he had in effect stolen one of Roger's cases. "I don't know how you've managed to convince the brass to let you pull this off MacIntosh but you and I both know that you're stealing my case." "As usual you've got your head so far up your own arse you can't see the big picture, Roger. You were running with some low-level sex charges and you couldn't even make those stick. This thing goes way beyond that, way beyond that. That's why I'm in the lead now and not you. This thing calls for the first team to be in charge, not the reserves." MacIntosh's words and tone of voice conveyed the fact that he saw himself as being by far the superior detective. Black found himself grinding his teeth together and his grip on the phone tightened as he tried to control his anger. "Have you just called to rub it in or was there a point?" he asked. "I want to know everything you had on MacGovern. There must have been something or you wouldn't have been able to get a warrant. Even you wouldn't be so stupid as to charge the man without some grounds, so what did you have?" Drew enquired. "Check out the file and find out for yourself," Black snapped and hung up. Back in his office, Drew laughed. He had expected nothing else from Roger and had in fact already ordered the file to be brought to him, knowing that would be the only way he would find out what he wanted. He couldn't resist taking the opportunity of hearing Black suffer however. At that very moment, one of the station's admin staff appeared with the file in question and Drew signed for it. He wasted no time in opening up the buff folder and began to go through its contents. Given the fact that the charge against MacGovern had been dropped, Drew wasn't surprised that there wasn't very much on the file. He quickly scanned the transcripts of the interviews Roger Black had conducted with the teacher and immediately picked up the references to the notebook that had been recovered. He could see that Black had homed in on the sex angle as being the most likely to bear fruit. He didn't miss the mention of the Church of Cyberscience and the Hamiltons however, and his frustration grew as he realised Roger hadn't really explored those with MacGovern. What was worse for Drew was that it became clear the notebook was a veritable gold mine. He just knew there would be material in there that would help him piece together the things that he was currently wrestling with. He didn't for one second believe Kenny MacGovern's story that the notebook was all about a book he planned to write. The fact that the notebook wasn't on the file gave him a sinking feeling and he reached for the phone once more. "DI Black." "Roger, it's Drew MacIntosh again. What's happened to MacGovern's notebook?" Roger had been waiting for this although he hadn't expected another call quite so quickly. He realised that MacIntosh must have already called for the file if he was back on the phone so quickly. A smile of triumph broke out on his face, as he knew his rival really wanted to get his hands on the notebook. "I'm afraid we had to give it back to him when he was released," he answered Drew's question, his joy evident in his voice. "Thanks for nothing pal! How did you ever make detective?" Having confirmed his fears, Drew slammed the phone down. He tried to quarry the thin file for every scrap of detail that could possibly help him, cursing the fact that he couldn't go through MacGovern's notebook himself. The references to MacGovern being responsible for some kind of mind control seemed so far fetched as to be unbelievable. "Is it possible he's been using some kind of hypnosis? Where does the sex with the young girls fit in?" After two hours of complete concentration on Roger Black's 'evidence' Drew was developing a headache. He took a break and walked along the corridor to the coffee machine. He inserted the correct change and selected a black coffee. He took the drink back to his desk and fished out the small bottle of paracetamol from the drawer. Drew took two of the painkillers and sat back in his chair to go over what he now knew about Kenny MacGovern. "According to the notes in this notebook MacGovern seems to have been the one who set up this Church of Cyberscience. The claim is that somehow he has been controlling his pupils - raising their attainment and eventually getting them to donate money. "MacGovern's notes suggest it was him who ordered the Hamiltons to kill Mark MacGhee - I guess because MacGhee had started to investigate the Hamiltons and that led to him start to ask questions about the schools where MacGovern taught. "If he had already ordered the Hamiltons to kill Mark, why also then order Jason Welsh to kill him? That doesn't fit in at all. "I wonder what was on the computer and the memory stick. Roger's notes say that MacGovern warned them not to turn the computer on and that the technicians reported that data deleted itself in the lab. What's all that about? "Shit! Drew you are so thick! We already know that this Church of Cyberscience purchased two casinos in Glasgow. We've seen the bank account details and know how much money MacGovern has been raking in - certainly more than enough to buy himself that bloody great mansion in Fife. He knows we've seen his notes. He knows he runs the risk of being charged with commissioning murder and can probably guess we'll be able to follow the money back to all sorts of other things. He probably thinks he's been fucking lucky so far to avoid charges. He's bound to do a runner!" Drew snatched up the phone again and dialled frantically. "It's DI MacIntosh here. I need an alert broadcast to all UK airports and ports for an immediate stop and detain on Kenny MacGovern. Get onto the relevant authorities and get details of his passport." ------- Despite the urgency of Drew's request, the various agencies involved in acting on it were typical bureaucracies. The request did arrive at the customs points at all ports and airports within six hours - just after 04:00. It carried details of Kenny MacGovern's description, his passport and his car. Unfortunately the request at Rosyth ended up in the in-tray of an already hard-pressed customs officer. The man had his monthly statistical return to complete and he was giving that priority over everything else. The return was finished by 09:30 and the officer then decided to catch up on some of the urgent things from the previous day that he had put off. He didn't actually come across the stop and detain notice until 12:40 and he passed it immediately to one of his staff to action. He noted the date stamp which told him when the alert had arrived but didn't think it would be a major problem. When his junior officer burst through his door half an hour later he had a premonition that he could be in trouble. "Sir! This stop and detain alert, this guy was on last night's sailing!" The customs officer glanced at the clock on the wall. He knew that last night's ferry would have docked in Zeebrugge more than an hour ago. Cringing, he took the details from the junior and scanned the alert for the contact details of the person who had raised it. He picked up the phone on his desk and dialled the number given. "Can I speak to DI MacIntosh please?" "MacIntosh speaking." "Ahh, detective. It's customs at Rosyth Ferry Port here. I don't know how to say this..." "I suggest you just get to the point, man. Is it about MacGovern?" Drew demanded. "Ahh. MacGovern. Yes. Indeed. Ahh. Well, the thing is..." "Spit it out, man!" "We only processed the alert half an hour ago, you see. I'm afraid your man was on last night's ferry. He would have docked in Zeebrugge at 12:00." The customs officer held the handset away from his ear as he heard Drew's shouted curses on the other end of the line. ------- Two days of driving on unfamiliar roads, on the wrong side of the road and for most of the second day battling against the glare of a bright sun, had taken their toll on Kenny. Added to that was the fact that he had managed little sleep on the ferry. He arrived at the Spanish holiday resort of Benalmadena at 9pm on the day after he had docked at Zeebrugge plumped for the first hotel he came to. The Torrequebrada Hotel was an impressive looking affair sitting close to the coastal route and it had rooms available. After a quick shower, Kenny adjusted the air-conditioning and fell into bed. When he woke, he glanced at the bedside clock and saw that he had slept for twelve straight hours. He could hear the Mediterranean Sea crashing against the rocks outside his hotel and lay for a few minutes trying to get his thoughts in order. "Okay. I've managed to get out of Scotland and I should be safe for a wee while. I've got the computer with me and I need to finish going through the e-mails on the memory stick. I've got plenty of money so that shouldn't be a problem. What else do I need to sort out?" He decided that his first priority had to be getting some breakfast! After that he would scout around and try and find somewhere to rent for a few weeks rather than stay in hotels. This was a holiday resort after all - how difficult would it be to rent an apartment? Once he was settled he could concentrate on tracking down his controller. The one major consideration would need to be that whatever he rented would have to be in a 3G 'hotspot' so he could access the Internet wirelessly. Kenny dressed in the creased clothes from his small bag. He realised he would have to shop for more suitable clothing given the heat of Southern Spain and added that to his 'to-do' list. Breakfast in the Torrequebrada Hotel was a mixture of a buffet - cereals, fruit, various breads and rolls - or a hot breakfast. In the late morning light Kenny realised the hotel was clearly a favourite with visiting golfers from the UK. The catering was therefore designed to meet the needs of Brits and he was able to get bacon and eggs without any trouble. Reading through some of the tourist leaflets reminded him that there were a number of decent golf courses in this area as well as a dizzying variety of attractions of all kinds for tourists. He took his time over breakfast, relaxing after the arduous drive and the tension of the past week. Once he had finished eating he stepped outside the hotel and felt the heat. Kenny walked round the hotel to his right and crossed the carpark to reach the sea. The sun was already baking hot and the steady stream of sweat pouring down his back confirmed he would need to purchase more suitable clothing soon. He walked back to the hotel's entrance, which was virtually underneath the busy N-340 coast road, and back into the comfort of the air-conditioned foyer. As it catered for a significant number of golfers and other sportsmen, the hotel had a small sports boutique situated in the foyer. Kenny picked out a number of pairs of shorts and some short-sleeved, open-necked shirts. He added a pair of canvas boating shoes, a Real Madrid cap and a pair of quality sunglasses to his small pile of shopping and then paid for the lot. He was shocked at first when he saw the cost but then remembered that he had to convert prices from Euros to Sterling. The sales clerk was cheery and helpful, no doubt pleased to have made such a significant sale and she bagged everything up for him. Twenty minutes later Kenny made his way out of the hotel again, this time more suitably dressed for the heat, and made his way back to the car. The Toshiba notebook was under his arm and he sat it on the passenger seat beside him before turning it on. His plan was to drive round looking for signs advertising properties to rent with the Toshiba beside him giving an idea of where the 3G hotspots were. Kenny planned to focus his apartment searching only in those areas. It wasn't difficult to pick out the 'for rent' signs as they were everywhere. Kenny smiled as that meant he would have a really good range of properties to choose from. Heading towards Gibraltar on the N-340, he only travelled a mile or so until he reached an area sign-posted as Torremeulle. He could see some pretty large properties slightly higher up on a hillside and swung the car over to come off at the next exit. The exit took Kenny onto a roundabout, past a small supermarket and up the hill towards the properties he was interested in. Turning into the first residential street, he spotted three large villas with signs indicating they were for rent. "It looks like this is going to be easy. The whole coastline is full of properties available for the sun-deprived British!! I might as well stop here and have a look rather than keep driving around all day in this heat." He parked up and checked the Toshiba to confirm there was good Internet coverage. Happy that there was, he closed the notebook, locked the car and walked towards the first villa he had spotted that was for rent. ------- The controller's patience was wearing thin. There was nothing on the news channels or in the newspapers to indicate that MacGovern had been re-arrested or that the teacher had been attacked in any way. The computer was on, its screensaver repeating over and over. The controller wiggled the mouse to bring the screen back to the home page then clicked on the start button to call up the program menu. It only took a few moments to retrieve the contact details for Jason Welsh and the controller dialled the phone number displayed on the screen. "Hello?" "Jason, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" The silence confirmed that the trigger phrase had worked its magic. "Listen carefully, Jason, here's what I want you to do." ------- "Sir, I've got another 'walk-in' here at the front desk. This one's asking for you by name, he claims you'll know who he is. A Mr Jason Welsh? He says he needs to speak to you about the case against him." Drew hung up and hurried through the station to the front desk, calling for another officer to join him. "Mr Welsh, here's a surprise. Why don't we go through to one of the interview rooms?" Drew confirmed that Welsh was content to have their discussion taped and he set the recorders rolling. The uniformed officer took a seat in the corner furthest away from Drew and his visitor. "Okay Mr Welsh. What can I do for you?" Drew asked. "It's perhaps more a case of what I can do for you, detective," Welsh replied. "I'm here to fill in the details of my attempted attack on Mr MacGhee." Drew was surprised and he struggled to keep the expression on his face neutral and business-like. "I see. Well, you know what they say; confession is good for the soul. Why don't you just tell me everything and get it off your chest." "I was ordered to kill Mr MacGhee by a chap called Kenny MacGovern. He made it clear if I didn't do what he wanted then my parents and my sister would be killed instead. He e-mailed me a picture of the journalist and told me where he would be that afternoon. "I guess it was kind of obvious that I've never done anything like that before because I made a complete mess of everything." Although it had not been the teacher but rather the controller who had ordered the killing, inside Welsh's head his programming ensured that he believed the story he was telling one hundred percent. The phone call from the controller and the use of the mind-control programme had established the entire story as fact so far as he was concerned. The added colour of the threat to Welsh's family was an attempt to make his story more believable. The conviction with which he told his story wasn't lost on Drew but the detective still probed. "So, you're now saying that Kenny MacGovern ordered the killing and that you were forced to carry out his orders for fear your own family would be killed. Is that right?" Drew asked. The solicitor nodded in agreement. "How do you know Kenny MacGovern?" Drew asked next, as he hadn't yet established that connection. "I met him at a summer camp thing when I was still at school. It was one of these things that bright kids were selected to go on at the time - a programme to try to raise achievement across Scotland's schools I believe." "But that must have been what, fifteen years ago? How has MacGovern kept in touch all this time?" "I've no idea, detective. I hadn't heard from him since that one time long ago but somehow he knew how to reach me and it was clear he knew everything about my family and where they live." "Why didn't you just contact the police? Anybody in their right mind would have done that rather than follow such extreme orders. Don't you think it's a little far-fetched to believe that somebody you haven't seen in fifteen years phones, threatens your family and orders you to kill a complete stranger? You can't expect me to believe any of this," Drew suggested. "I can assure you he was very convincing. When he described details of what my family do on a day to day basis - where they go, who they meet - and explained how easy it would be to harm them, I knew he was being serious. He made it clear what would happen if I approached the police." Drew decided to explore possible links between MacGovern, what he had written in the missing notebook and Welsh's monthly donations to the Church of Cyberscience. "What has MacGovern got to do with the Church of Cyberscience?" Drew demanded The detective saw the momentary glazed look appear in Welsh's eyes and then just as quickly it was gone. "I've no idea what you're talking about detective. I came here today to explain why I did what I did. The man you should really be after is Kenny MacGovern." Drew smiled inwardly. He didn't have any evidence yet but if there was something concrete to prove MacGovern had ordered the attack on Mark MacGhee he would be able to add murder to the charges that were stacking up against the teacher. All he needed to do was get his hands on the evidence and just as importantly, get his hands on MacGovern! "Did you keep the e-mail he sent with the picture of the journalist?" Drew asked. ------- Kenny sat soaking up the rays from the hot sun. The villa's garden was a riot of palms, bougainvillea, aloe vera and other plants that clearly thrived in the heat. The colours of the many flowers were stunningly vivid and the fragrances heavy and sweet on the humid air. He carefully studied the view he had from his comfortable chair beside the villa's private pool. The villas on either side were barely visible - one white stucco the other pink, which contrasted with the lemon exterior of the villa he had rented. The turquoise water of the Med stretched out for miles. Small boats dotted around on its shimmering surface. Being able to show his passport and pay one month's rent in advance (cash!) had convinced the villa's owner, an Englishman from Manchester, that he wasn't a risk. They had agreed the rental quite quickly and as the villa was unoccupied, Kenny was able to move in right away. A quick trip back along the N-340 towards Malaga in the car allowed Kenny to check out of the hotel and then find a 'Supermercado' so that he could stock up on enough groceries for a few days. He barbecued some fresh Tuna loin and ate that with some fresh salad then settled down to work through more of the e-mails on the memory stick. Another hour of reading merely identified more victims of his mind-control programme and further awful abuses of young girls. The details of the web-site and the money it was generating were enough to shock Kenny when he read about them. As with the other things he had been made to do, as soon as he saw the order written down in the e-mail all of the detail came back to him. It was a simple matter to navigate to sugar&spice and he even remembered his administrator's password. Despite himself he couldn't stop himself from becoming aroused at the images on the site and quickly closed it down, disgusted at what he had become. He realised he was growing tired again and decided it was time to do two things that he had thought of during the day. The first thing was an idea that he thought might come in useful given he had had to flee Scotland. Kenny navigated to the google home page and typed in Mark MacGhee AND journalist AND Scotland then hit the enter key. His search returned quite a few hits and he quickly scanned the addresses associated with the first ten that were displayed. He spotted one address that looked promising - mmacghee-journo.com - and he clicked on that to open it up. Mark MacGhee's web-site had cost him quite a bit of money but the image it presented was probably worth every penny. Kenny got the impression of quality from the home page and no doubt that was the message the journalist wanted visitors to get. The text describing who MacGhee was and what services he could provide was very well written - no less than might be expected from a journalist - and Kenny quickly scanned through it. Kenny spotted an icon that was titled Contact Mark MacGhee and he clicked on it. An outlook e-mail template popped up on his screen, an e-mail address already in the 'To' field. He paused to gather his thoughts and then composed an e-mail to the journalist. Dear Mr MacGhee, {/I] I hope this message finds you safe and well. I won't waste your time by asking you to forgive me for what I've done - I know that's impossible - but I would like to apologise anyway. You're no doubt aware that someone has been trying to kill you over the past few weeks. I can assure you now that that has stopped and you should be safe going about your business from now on. I want to promise you that the attempts on your life were not my doing. I think the police believe I ordered the Hamiltons to come after you but it's not that simple, believe me. I've had to leave the country because I think it's only a matter of time before the police arrest me again. I can't let that happen because I believe I'm the only one in a position to track down who is really behind all this. I know you will think this is a strange offer - but would you be interested in helping me bring to justice those who have been responsible for attacking you? {I] You can contact me at this e-mail address. Once again my deepest apologies for what you have been through. KM Kenny sat back and quickly scanned the message. Having help from someone with MacGhee's skills, someone still in Scotland, might be a huge advantage and he was willing to take the risk in communicating with the journalist. He spotted several small typos in the e-mail and corrected them and then hit the 'send' button. Once the e-mail had gone he called up something else to his computer screen and started working away. ------- "Flick! Flick! You're not going to believe this, but I think I've just received an e-mail from Kenny MacGovern!" Felicity darted into the cabin's main room, still drying her hair after her shower. Mark was sitting at the dining table, her laptop open in front of him and he was apparently checking his mail. "What do you mean - you 'think'?" she asked. "Well, the e-mail address of the sender is Nerdboy1972@bt.com but it's the content of the message that's the main thing. Look." Felicity crossed the room and rested herself on Mark's back as she read over his shoulder. Dear Mr MacGhee, I hope this message finds you safe and well... Mark gave her time to read the short e-mail "It's him, isn't it? Who else would know all those details and have the initials KM?" Mark asked. "Oh, it's him alright, but what's all this nonsense about? What does he mean he's not responsible for the Hamiltons trying to kill you? And what does he mean - would you be interested in helping him? Is he out of his mind? No, stupid question, of course he's out of his mind. That's exactly what's going on here, the man's clearly lost his marbles altogether!" "Don't be so quick to write him off as a nutter, love. There are still some things about this whole story that don't add up and if nothing else I think I need to keep in touch with MacGovern so that I can try to work some of them out. If nothing else I might have the makings of a story I can sell," suggested Mark. "Can we believe him when he says that we don't need to worry about the Hamiltons anymore?" asked Flick. "I'm not willing to take that chance yet, are you? No, I think we should stay here at the cabin for a while yet and try and get more out of MacGovern. We need to think about how we reply to his message," said Mark. ------- Kenny started his day with a twenty-minute work out in the villa's private pool to stretch himself and then cooked a simple omelette for breakfast. His plan now was to enjoy the weather by the pool while he checked to see if his second idea from the day before had borne fruit. The Toshiba sat open on a table in front of him and he had lathered plenty of sun-cream over his exposed skin to stop himself from burning. A quick check of the CPU from his home computer the previous evening had confirmed that the database of those exposed to the mind-control programme had been deleted. Kenny was disgusted with himself for the fact that he hadn't stored a backup of his work anywhere but he thought he knew how to restore the database. The fingers of his right hand shook a little nervously as he moved the cursor to hover over the Windows 'start' button in the bottom left corner of the laptop's screen. He clicked and the menu popped up. A rush of breath escaped from his lungs and he realised he had forgotten to breathe he was so uptight. His tension was released when he saw the icon for his database software showing on the left-hand side of the menu. Kenny knew that meant that this programme had been one of the last used on the laptop and the operating system had 'remembered' that. He had no conscious memory of using the database programme the night before but that was exactly what he had been hoping for. Kenny's second idea had been to use his mind programme on himself again in the hope that he could order himself to recreate the database. He knew the information had to be in his head somewhere - he just needed some way of brining it all out. One more click opened the database application and he couldn't stop himself from shouting his delight. "YES!" The database sat open in front of him and it appeared fully populated with names and contact details. Kenny knew there was no time to lose. If whoever had been controlling him had deleted the database that surely suggested that it was even now being used against him. The controller obviously knew the trigger phrase and would therefore now have control of every single person who had been exposed to the programme. It didn't take Kenny long to knock together a simple piece of code that imported each name and address into a standard e-mail message. That way he would be able to send the same message to every person on the database at the same time - a kind of mass mail-shot. He knew he was possibly in a race against the clock. If whoever was controlling him had already taken the same action that he was about to take then his message would be pointless - but Kenny knew he had to try. He paused to look at the e-mail message. [INSERT NAME] have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you? You will no longer respond to this phrase, in future it will mean nothing to you. Instead, when you hear or see the words: 'the cavalry is coming, Kenny has sent the cavalry' - you will listen carefully and do whatever you are ordered to. You will send a reply e-mail to confirm that you have received and understood this message. As part of your reply you will detail everything that you have been asked to do for the Church in the past few weeks. The Church of Cyberscience is ended. Kenny's plan was clear. He intended to send this message to change the trigger phrase so he could take back sole control of as many of those on the database as possible. He had to deny his controller access to so many people and also try to put right all the things he had been made to do. The last part of the message would hopefully identify anything that his controller had set in motion in the recent past. Once he was satisfied with the message, Kenny ran the programme and watched as the computer began to fire off thousands of e-mails. He had to hope that his Internet provider didn't block his account as so many messages issuing at once might appear like he was generating SPAM. The programme was running extremely fast and within ten minutes he was relieved to see that it completed his job. He just had to hope no that his controller hadn't had the same idea. ------- Chapter 17 Three more days of soaking up the warm Spanish sun and working through the e-mails on the memory stick and Kenny finally finished his task. He now knew the full scope of what he had been ordered to do and could feel the heavy weight of guilt crushing down on his very soul. He knew that he had to be strong and put it all to one side if at all possible while he tried to track down his controller and bring him to justice. Kenny took several hours to review the notes he had taken of the various technical things he had been ordered to do to protect the e-mail cache. He was fairly confident now that he could turn on the CPU from his old computer without losing control of it or risking more data being deleted. He would need to get his hands on some additional IT kit however. He also knew there was no option but to explore the computer if he was going to be able to follow the trail of the e-mail messages back to their source. Now, so close to his prize, Kenny was nervous and he delayed the moment of truth. He swam a few laps of the pool in an effort to try to burn off some of the energy that he could feel fizzing around in his body but quickly gave up and pulled himself out and lay drying in the sunshine. "Okay, there's still some risk that I won't be able to override the controls that have been put in place but I need to take that chance. The sooner I find out who is behind this, the quicker I can try to set the record straight. Come on MacGovern, let's get the finger out!" Kenny was all action now. He made a quick trip into the nearby town of Fuengirola. The journey was an easy one - he took advantage of the nearby Torremuelle station and the efficient Spanish rail network. It was only a matter of minutes before he was descending the steps from the Fuengirola station and into the milling crowds of tourists. He managed to avoid the seemingly never-ending army of touts who were trying to sell timeshares and picked up a Spanish phrase book to try to add to his laughable knowledge of the Spanish language. Kenny bypassed the open-air markets and the stalls selling tourist trash in his search for a store that sold IT equipment. While his old CPU had a built-in wireless network card, he knew he needed to buy other components before he would be able to access the Internet with it. After just over an hour of wandering through the holiday crowds, Kenny stumbled across a store called EIB on a broad thoroughfare. He could see from the window displays that it was more than likely to have what he needed and he entered the shop. The girl behind the cash desk was soon laughing at his attempts to speak in Spanish but the fact that he was at least making the effort meant that she was more than happy to try to help him. It turned out that Maria's English was all but perfect and she quickly convinced Kenny to put away his phrase book and simply tell her what he was looking for. She picked out a wireless hub/router and the various other pieces of kit that he needed and rang up the sale. "It is good that you try my language," she said, "too many of the British are arrogant and don't do that. But, you need lots more practice!" Maria's laugh softened her words and Kenny had to laugh along with her, as his Spanish had indeed been pretty pathetic. "Gracias, Senorita," he smiled as he left the store with his purchases. Kenny was able to find his way back to the rail station without too much trouble. The short ride back to Torremuelle was a relief as he enjoyed the cool of the air-conditioned train. Once back at the villa it didn't take him long to set up the new kit and the moment of truth was then upon him. "Okay, this is it. Time to go phishing!" Kenny laced his fingers together and straightened his arms, bending his fingers back until his knuckles cracked. He sat at the dining table and plugged the new monitor, keyboard and mouse into his old CPU. There was one final moment of hesitation before he pushed in the button to turn the computer on. When the message appeared advising press F8 to interrupt start-up Kenny did so and interrupted the normal boot-up procedure. He typed away quickly on the keyboard and brought up some of the software and coding tools that he had designed and cached on the hard drive. The tools helped Kenny unpick the various pieces of code that his controller had ordered him to basically infect the operating system with. He removed the backdoor that enabled the controller to access the computer - that was still a big potential danger. After that he dismantled the various bombs and booby traps that he had set-up under orders and felt sure that the computer was now safe for him to use. After a re-boot, Kenny let the start-up sequence go through its normal routine. Once that was done, he quickly brought up one of the utility tools he had developed himself and searched for deleted materials on the computer's hard disc. "Yes! Not so clever now my little controller, are you?" Kenny's utility programme had located all of the data that his controller had tried to delete. Unlike the method of deletion that Kenny favoured - the US DoD method - the controller hadn't done anything to overwrite those sectors of the hard drive where the deleted data had been. Kenny was able to use the 'ghost' of the original data to fully restore it. The database of all his former pupils was soon back. He had of course taken some hours under the influence of his own mind-programme to recreate it already, but didn't mind one bit as it was possible his efforts wouldn't have restored absolutely every name. Recovering the original was also somehow more satisfying, a victory against his controller. The other data he retrieved was also vitally important - the details of the offshore account for the Church of Cyberscience and the security and password details that controlled access to it. Kenny wasted no time in using these to call-up the option to change the password - purposefully cutting off any chance that his controller would be able to use or move the money. Once he was happy that the data had all been recovered and the offshore funds secured, Kenny called up the directory with all of the stored e-mails from his controller. He had already tried to follow the return e-mail addresses using the back-up version of the e-mails from the memory stick and his laptop. That hadn't been successful, as his controller had clearly set up a very effective firewall. Kenny knew however, that the first message he had opened on this computer had sent an acknowledgement. That sent message would still be somewhere in his 'Sent Items' folder and Kenny hoped it would be the key to tracking his adversary down. He found the acknowledgement that had been sent and clicked to open the message. Kenny's e-mail was always set up to have the 'Tracking' activated and he now clicked on that tab at the top of the screen to open the details. The screen showed who the recipient of the message was and when they had read it. Those simple few lines confirmed that this message had already passed through the controller's security and been read by him. The fact that the controller's firewall already 'knew' this message, had already vetted and accepted it, should mean that if he re-sent it, it would be accepted again. Kenny wasted no time in opening up another directory that held more of his own work. He identified his best ever Trojan-horse virus programme. Disguising the virus as a simple link, he embedded it into the old e-mail message. One more click on his computer and the message was on its way to the controller for the second time - hopefully it would do its job and give him access to the controller's PC. ------- The controller was starting to lose patience. There had been nothing to suggest any progress had been achieved with regard to Kenny MacGovern. Days had now passed since Jason Welsh had been ordered to confess all to the police and since the Hamiltons had been directed to take action against the teacher. Lifting the phone, the controller dialled the Hamiltons' number, intending to try to force something to happen. "Hello?" The controller recognised Duncan's voice. "Duncan, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" the controller asked. "Who the fuck is this? Are you taking the piss? Fuck off!!" Duncan barked harshly and cut the connection. The controller held the handset out and stared at it in shock. The trigger phrase hadn't worked, Duncan hadn't responded to it. What the hell was going on? "Shit! It's MacGovern! It has to be him. Somehow he's managed to get to the Hamiltons and he's changed the trigger. Oh fuck, if he's changed the Hamiltons does that mean he's changed everybody?" The controller scrambled over to the computer and opened up the database. It was a simple matter to compose an e-mail that would substitute a new trigger phrase for the Church of Cyberscience one. Once that was achieved, the controller would stop MacGovern taking back his former pupils. Making up the new trigger phrase was easy but it was a much slower job sending it off to each of the names on the database individually. After sending the first few messages, the controller cursed. "Stupid!! I should do a mail-merge from the database and do them all in a oner." That still took almost forty minutes to complete and once the 'bulk' e-mail had been sent, the controller opened the e-mail programme just to confirm the mail-merge had worked. A check of the 'sent items' folder showed that the e-mail had indeed gone out. Switching over to the in-box showed a number of acknowledgements had already been received to show the recipients had read the message. The controller absently deleted these acknowledgements, including the 'rogue' one that Kenny had sent which was mixed in amongst the others. While the delete key simply consigned all of the other acknowledgements to the controller's 'deleted items' folder, when applied to Kenny's message it also executed the code that activated the virus, setting it loose on the computer's operating system. The anti-virus protection didn't recognise Kenny's programme, as it wasn't one of those in its extensive library of known viruses. It therefore failed to stop the virus establishing a backdoor for its creator's use and also triggering a 'worm' that crawled deeper into the PC's systems to attach itself to some important command files. When the controller sent another e-mail, the 'worm' took advantage of the outgoing message and attached itself to it, splitting itself off once through the firewall and immediately racing back to Kenny's computer with its host's IP address. ------- Drew skimmed through the reports in his in-tray. He still had too many cases running at the same time and was expected to deliver results on all of them. The case that he was most focused on however, was the one involving Kenny MacGovern. For once there had initially been good co-operation with the various police forces on mainland Europe and he was already aware that MacGovern had driven through Belgium and France and on into Spain. The teacher's progress had been tracked using roadside cameras and Drew knew that he had gone to ground on Spain's Southern coast. At that point the assistance from his European colleagues had faltered. Tracing the wanted teacher was clearly not a priority for the Spanish police and Drew's frustration was growing. There had been no new information on MacGovern for days now and Drew's request to be allowed to go to Spain had been refused by Chief Inspector Hugh Graham. For all he knew, MacGovern could already have left Spain - taking advantage of the busy Mediterranean fishing fleets to cross over into Africa or move further along the Med to Greece or Italy. Drew suspected that the teacher had access to a great deal of cash and he knew that money opened many doors. The detective had to content himself with trying to second-guess what Kenny MacGovern was up to. Was he just trying to avoid being arrested again? Was he simply a fugitive or did he have some other objective in mind? ------- Kenny disciplined himself to remain in front of his PC once he had sent the virus out to do its job. He knew that if it worked he might only have a brief window of opportunity to take advantage of it. The 'worm' would broadcast the IP address of the computer it had infected every time an e-mail was sent from the host. The problem for Kenny was that he needed to have the IP address while the infected computer was still connected to the Internet if he was to use the backdoor that his Trojan-horse would have established. He was super-confident in his own abilities and knew that he only needed a few minutes of access to set up a more permanent link to his target. The IP address and the first few minutes were the key therefore and he waited anxiously, checking his screen constantly for the worm's message. Kenny blinked as a series of numbers suddenly appeared on his screen. [113.422.713.655.12956] "Yes!" he cried aloud. His fingers flew quickly across the keyboard in front of him, as he stealthily contacted the port at that IP address, the port that his Trojan had opened up for him. In moments Kenny was inside the other computer's operating system and he now showed all his skill and subtlety as a programmer. Everything he did was light-touch - there were no alarms to alert the user of the other PC that they had an intruder accessing their equipment. Another few keystrokes brought up a listing of all of the hardware that the other computer had installed. Kenny's smile grew when he saw the wireless card - that was a bonus. Using his own utility tools again, he quickly inserted a 'spur' into the IEXPLORE.exe file that controlled the remote PC's access to the Internet. Once that was done he knew he would be able to remain linked to the other PC even if its owner thought they had logged-off of the Internet. Access would only be lost now when the computer was completely turned off. Kenny was careful not to do too much - running anything too powerful would use up the remote computer's processing capacity and slow its performance down. That would be a warning signal to whoever was at the other end and Kenny was determined to give them no hint of what he was up to. For now he contented himself with typing in the commands that copied the entire contents of the 'My Documents' folder from the other PC. Once that was done, Kenny severed his connection and sat back, sweat pouring from his forehead despite the air-conditioning inside the villa. He could feel the excitement coursing through him at the prospect of identifying who his controller was. With any luck the personal files that were in the 'My Documents' folder would include something that identified the PCs owner. Kenny knew he might only be a few mouse clicks away from revealing who had been controlling his life, who had been ordering him around for years now. He took a deep breath to compose himself and then focused his attention on the computer once more. There were a series of sub-folders set up within the My Documents folder - My Music, My Pictures, My Datasources and My eBooks. Kenny opened My Music and found hundreds of MP3 files. He browsed through the files, taking note of the names of the bands and finding himself complimenting the other on their taste. George Thoroughgood, AC/DC, Eric Clapton, BB King ... the list went on and most of them were bands that Kenny both knew and enjoyed himself. There was nothing there however, that gave any real clue as to the identity of the controller. Kenny clicked on My datasources next and was presented with a series of files that he recognised as the files that made up his own database of former pupils. That at least removed any doubt that he had identified the correct computer. No one else would have a copy of that database. Now all he had to do was identify its owner. My eBooks proved to be an empty folder and of no use whatsoever. He had saved what he thought would be the most useful folder for last. He felt strongly that the My Pictures folder was probably the most likely to give him the answers he wanted - images of the computer's owner. Kenny clicked on it now and was dismayed to find that it too was empty. Apparently the user of the other PC wasn't big on storing images. Kenny cursed his misfortune. All that was left was a small number of individual files that weren't associated with any sub-folder. Kenny could see that these were mostly individual Word and Excel files and he started to open them up to investigate their contents. All of the Word files contained what looked like drafts of various reports dealing with investment decisions. They set out cost benefit analyses in various stages of completion - one for an office computer system, another for the acquisition of a small private company and yet another that dealt with the pros and cons of leasing rather than purchasing fleet vehicles for a company. The file names for the Excel spreadsheets corresponded to the filenames of the Word documents. Opening several, Kenny confirmed that the spreadsheets contained cost information that clearly supported the analyses in the written reports. There was nothing in the content however, that gave any clue to the identity of the computer's owner. One file remained unopened. A single.jpg file was all that was left and Kenny hovered the cursor over the file and double-clicked on it. When the image appeared on his screen, all of his breath exploded from him in the form of one word. "LUKE!" Kenny sat paralysed in front of the PC's screen, an image of his best friend staring back at him. The picture looked to be several years old and Kenny was sure he could even remember the occasion when it must have been taken - Luke's twenty-first birthday celebration. Luke was sitting at a table in a booth. The setting was a bar - a fact that was made obvious by the number of drinks that littered the tabletop. There were numerous other people in the booth with Luke and Kenny even recognised himself amongst them, a goofy grin plastered across his face. Kenny's shock-numbed brain was able to put a name to the bar - O'Donnell's in Dundee - and to all of the other faces that surrounded Luke. The picture was old but he could still vividly recall the celebration. It had been a fun night eleven years ago. Now, staring at the oh-so-familiar features of his childhood friend, Kenny struggled to try to make sense of what he had found. What was Luke's picture doing on his controller's PC? Was the beast who had made him do all those awful things that were spelt out in the e-mail messages doing the same to Luke? Was his friend also being controlled? Time seemed to stand still until Kenny realised he was shaking violently. He stood and staggered through into the bedroom he had been using. Zombie-like, Kenny crawled under the duvet and rolled to wrap it tightly around himself like a comforting cocoon. A low, steady moan was repeating over and over again from deep within him and he began to rock himself to and fro until eventually, somehow, his mind closed down and his body fell into a deep sleep. ------- "What are you doing?" Mark asked. "I'm scouring the Internet for anything I can find about mind control." "You don't actually believe any of that rubbish?" "Surely it's best not to dismiss anything out of hand?" Flick enquired. "There have been lots of things that have happened over the past month that neither of us would ever have believed could happen to us." Mark paused to consider that and had to admit to himself that Felicity had a point. It was difficult to explain some of the things that had happened. Why would a perfectly respectable solicitor - a man that was a complete stranger - try to kill him in a crowded tearoom with a knife? How did a headteacher manage to dramatically improve the performance of three entire schools single-handedly? Why were hundreds, perhaps thousands of people donating money to the same teacher and why had Glasgow's gang-lords put out a contract on his head? "Okay, I know there have been some screwy things going on - but mind control? Come on Flick!" "Have you got a better answer?" she demanded. "I don't have an answer at all but that doesn't mean to say I believe in mind control!" "Well, you'd better start believing. It's all too true," Felicity said firmly. "What are you talking about?" "Look," she said, pointing to the screen of her laptop. Mark peered over her shoulder and began reading some of the material she had gathered. Names leapt from the screen at him - Lifton, Singer, Steven Hassan. Skimming quickly, Mark absorbed details of techniques that had been used against prisoners of war in Korea and of detailed studies carried out by a number of apparently eminent psychologists. He picked out references to the Stockholm Syndrome and to a number of notorious religious cult leaders. "Are you trying to tell me that there's a body of evidence that claims mind control is actually possible?" he asked. Flick pushed herself away from the table and stood up. "Sit down and read it for yourself. It's kind of obvious that you're not going to take my word for it," she said angrily. Mark reached out to put his arm round her but she shrugged him off and stalked off, clearly upset with his dismissive and disbelieving tone. He shrugged and took the seat she had just vacated, settling himself down to go through the material she had been gathering. It took Mark almost an hour to read through all of the articles that Flick had found and saved from the Internet. He admitted to himself that he was much less sceptical now than he had been. The work of too many well-respected people gave foundation to the existence of mind control for him to simply dismiss it out of hand any longer. He realised now why Flick was so pissed at him, he had been an absolute ass. Mark found Felicity lying on the double bed curled up into a foetal position. He sat on the bed beside her and reached out to gently stroke her hair. "I'm sorry, okay? I was being an arrogant, know-it-all asshole and I should have listened to you instead of laughing. It must have taken you hours to pull all of that stuff together and I didn't stop to even consider it before rubbishing the whole idea." Mark lay down on the bed and spooned behind her, his right hand sliding up over her tummy until he cupped one of her breasts. "Forgive me?" he whispered in her ear as he teased the nipple to hardness. "Mmmmmm, not yet, but you're heading in the right direction for redemption," she moaned. Mark grinned to himself and pushed his already erect cock harder into her rear. Flick thrust back at him, rubbing her butt cheeks against his hard flesh. "Praise the lord, for he has risen," breathed Flick "I sense that you're not averse to a little 'laying on of hands my child'," said Mark, his hand dropping between Flick's thighs. She bent her knees to allow him better access and Mark found the front of her silky underwear already slick with her juices. He let his middle finger trace the line where her nether lips met then raised it to his mouth to lick the juices and get a taste of her. The fact that she was so wet, so quickly gave him a sense that she was needy and this was one of those rare occasions when speed was required. He pulled down the front of his sweats and then pulled her panties to the side, exposing her swollen sex. Flick realised what he was about to do and she lifted her right leg to give him better access. Mark raised himself, taking his weight on his left elbow while he ran the head of his cock the length of Flick's juicy slit, coating himself in her oily secretions. She moaned as his cock stimulated her hard little clit and thrust her ass back even further in an attempt to get him to penetrate her. "Put him in, Mark. Don't be mean, put him in. I need it." He obliged, pressing down on his cock to change the angle and easing its head into her narrow opening. Flick's breath caught for a moment as she felt his length force itself inside her. Mark reversed his thrust, trying to make sure that his iron-hard cock remained slick with her lubricants before pushing forward once more until he was fully seated. The position wasn't the most comfortable - Mark had to twist his lower body to achieve a good angle for what they needed - but he soon had a decent rhythm going. It was fast and hard from the outset and Flick's vocal response confirmed that he had guessed her needs just right. "Oh fuck yes, yes Mark, yes. Like that, just like that baby. Uhhhhhhhh." He shifted his weight and rolled them over so Flick was lying on her front then pulled upwards on her hips until she brought her knees under her and raised her ass. Mark was able to drive even harder and faster in this new position and his cock was penetrating even deeper inside her. Flick let him know that she appreciated the improvements. "Uhhhh, ngggggggg. So good, baby. So good. Hard Mark, hard. Keep going, baby. Ooohhhh, I can feel you right up inside me. Keep going just like that, just like that, just, just like that, like that, yes, just like that. Aaahhhhhhhh." Flick's noisy encouragement increased Mark's pleasure and it didn't take long before he felt his fast approaching climax. His balls tightened and he felt the telltale tingling and light-headedness that signalled he was about to come. Flick's vocals were now merely grunts of satisfaction, timed to each of his thrusts. The grunts were getting closer and closer together and Mark sensed they would be close to coming simultaneously. "Fuuucckkkkkk!" he exclaimed through gritted teeth, as his cock jerked and his cream spurted deeply inside his girl. "Nnnoooooooo!" wailed Flick. Even in the throes of his own orgasm, Mark realised Flick wasn't quite there with him and his hand quickly reached down to stimulate her clit. He had stopped his thrusts, buried as deep inside her as he could get while he ejaculated but now he began again, determined to help her get off. He was pleased with himself when Flick's agonised 'nnnoooooo' changed to an equally emotional 'yyyesssssssssss'. Both of them slumped to their sides and Mark cuddled in behind her, his right arm around her to pull her in closer. "Mmmmmm. It's just as well you recovered at the end there buster or you really would be in my bad books for a while," said Flick. "The happiness of my flock is always my greatest concern," he replied with a laugh. ------- Kenny's consciousness returned and he realised he was staring at the bedroom ceiling. He had no idea of how long he had been awake or how long he had been lying in bed. His brain seemed to be functioning again and that was a relief. Clearly the shock of seeing Luke's picture on his controller's PC had overloaded him and short-circuited his ability to think. He realised now that the violent shaking that had wracked his body had been a reaction to the shock and that he had luckily addressed the worst of that by wrapping himself up to remain warm. After that his body had apparently defended itself by simply shutting down. His subconscious had also been at work while he had been out of it and a worrying possibility was now at the forefront of his mind. One possible explanation for Luke's picture being on the controller's PC - possibly even the most obvious and most likely - was that it was actually Luke who had been controlling him. The very idea that such a thing could be true was difficult for him to contemplate and he didn't want to believe it was true. "It has to be somebody who had access to me, close enough access to understand what I was doing with the mind control programme from the outset. The only way that could have happened was if somebody either watched me using the trigger phrase or if they somehow came across the programme and could read the code and understand what it did. "The way the programme works means that anyone could watch a pupil use one of the consoles and have no idea that anything untoward was going on. The programme also has all of the safeguards I built in to it, so none of the former pupils would ever give the game away. No, the only way somebody could find out about the programme would be to see me use it or read the source code. "That narrows things down a hell of a lot. Some of the things my controller has done also need a really good understanding of programming, hacking and IT hardware in general. They might have got me to set up some of the booby traps on my own PC once they were controlling me, but they had to take control first. Luke and I always had our PCs linked up. He was one of the only weaknesses in the security I had built-in to my home set-up - my firewalls were set up to allow him access. The more Kenny thought about it, the more plausible it all became. Luke would have been able to access his computer remotely and could easily have stumbled across his mind control programme while it was being developed. Luke knew enough to be able to read the code and to figure out what it did. Luke was in a unique position and the fact that Kenny trusted him meant that his guard would have been down. "God! What an idiot. I gave him the opportunity. I trusted him. He must have been walking through my computer and reading everything he wanted to. He's stumbled over the programme, understood what it could do and somehow turned it loose on me!" Kenny remembered that he had modified the programme a number of times and had then used it on himself. That was probably when Luke had taken control - he must have recognised his opportunity and simply used the trigger phrase on him. After that Luke would have been in complete control. He felt his disbelief beginning to turn firstly to disappointment and then to anger that his long-time friend could have betrayed him in such a way. To then have gone on and made him do all of the despicable things he had was just sickening. "I need more proof. I owe Luke that much at least. I can always get back into Luke's computer and do a more thorough search but I need something else as well. I need to know what else he's done with the programme." Kenny was suddenly all action, any remaining shock shaken off as he returned to sit in front of his computer. The screen had hibernated and was black but a quick flick of the mouse brought the picture of Luke MacNab back up onto the screen. The look in Kenny's eyes hardened now as he looked at his one-time friend for a second longer before he closed the image and opened up his e-mail account and began to compose a message. Mr MacGhee, I asked you whether you were interested in getting to the bottom of what has been going on. I've managed to track down the person who I think has been the mastermind behind all of the events of the last ten or eleven years. His name is Luke MacNab and he has been my friend since childhood. The realisation that it's Luke who has been doing this was a great shock to me but when I think about it, it all adds up and I should have seen it earlier. I suspect you'll not believe what I'm saying - why should you after all. But I'm banking on your curiosity and the fact that investigating Luke won't cost you anything. If I'm making up a story here you'll soon find out. If I'm not, you'll hopefully find the evidence I need to be able to clear my name and for us both to bring this nightmare to an end. Luke's address is 17 Orion Way, Dundee. I'm attaching a picture of him - he's the one in the middle of the group with the blonde hair. If you do decide to dig into what Mr MacNab has been up to please let me know. I'll try to do what I can from here in Spain, but that's probably not going to amount to much. Good Luck Kenny Sitting back, Kenny read through the message and sorted several typos. He couldn't think of anything else he needed to say and was satisfied he had passed on all the details necessary for Mark MacGhee to start investigating his old pal. With a final sigh he punched the enter key to send the e-mail on its way. ------- Chapter 18 Drew MacIntosh sat opposite his Chief Inspector and prepared himself to argue his case. After another frustrating day where the Spanish police hadn't turned up anything new on MacGovern, Drew was determined to have another try at convincing his boss that he should be allowed to go to Spain. "Chief, I'm convinced that nicking MacGovern this time will blow the lid off this whole case. I've got enough to make the statutory rape charges stick now - the statement from Kim Park puts that beyond doubt. "I know there's far more to this than some underage sex though. The purchase of the two casinos cost upwards of seven million alone and I've seen the bank account statements for this 'Church'. We're talking about a lot of money, a good percentage of it coming from the city's gangs. Shutting this down would be a major blow to organised crime in Glasgow. "My people are also still working through the names of all those who are making donations to MacGovern - it reads like a list of whose-who! If we break this it will be all over the news for weeks!" "Is there any evidence that the people on this list have committed any crime?" asked Chief Graham. "Not yet and it's possible they're all clean but MacGovern must have something on them if they're paying him off every month. "Please, sir. Just let me have a week over in Spain. A week. That's all I'm asking for. If I don't go soon I know MacGovern is going to use the dirty money he has to simply disappear. I don't have to tell you how easy that would be from the Mediterranean Coast," pleaded Drew. The detective's pitch had looked to touch all the right buttons for his senior officer. The scale of the operation, the money involved, the possible impact on the crime statistics and perhaps most of all, the publicity - all of these were the buttons to push to get Chief Inspector Graham's juices flowing. "Drew, the Spanish might not agree. They might not want you trampling all over their turf," Graham suggested. "Ahem. I've already checked that out, Chief. They couldn't care less about MacGovern. That's the problem." Drew glanced at the Chief's face to see how he took the news that Drew had already make enquires with the Spanish authorities. That could be considered going just a little too far without having been given authority. He relaxed when he saw the glimmer of a smile play over the Chief's lips. Graham admired officers who showed initiative - but only if they delivered results. If the ends didn't justify the means, then Drew knew Graham would just as happily hammer him later for not following procedures. "Okay, you've convinced me. A week. No more than that. Make sure you deliver on this Drew, you've got a week starting now." Drew cursed. Just sorting out the arrangements for liaison with the Spanish and practical issues such as flights and accommodation would eat up a good bit of the week he had just been granted. He didn't waste any more time thinking about problems but instead thanked the Chief and hurried out to make his first calls. ------- Mark and Felicity were sitting on the sofa in the cabin's family room, discussing Kenny MacGovern's latest e-mail. "So what do you think? Do we believe him?" asked Flick. "I'm not sure that's the important question here. It's a bit like what he says in his e-mail - it doesn't really matter if we believe him or not. There's no real risk in us having a look at this Luke MacNab. No, the real question is do we tell DI MacIntosh?" "Why wouldn't we tell Drew? "Think about it. He's got a warrant out for MacGovern's arrest. If we pass this on to him we'll lose all control over it. We won't even know what's going on. Past form tells me that Drew might fill us in on the story but only after he's brought charges and that could be months, even years from now," said Mark. "Aren't we taking a chance not telling him? What if this lead is the key to the whole case?" "Look, if we take a few days to snoop round MacNab and find out there really is some truth in what MacGovern's claiming, then we can share it with Drew then. At least that way we'll know what MacNab is up to and Drew won't be able to tell us only half of the story later on. A couple of days aren't going to make that much difference to the police investigation. It would probably take them more than two days to find the resources to check out MacNab for themselves anyway - you know how slow the police are!" Felicity wasn't completely convinced by Mark's argument but the prospect of being proactive, the opportunity to do something positive, was appealing she had to admit to herself. They had been cooped up in the log cabin for five days now and she was ready to stretch her legs and look for some excitement. "Okay. I'm in. What did you have in mind?" she asked, the twinkle in her eyes telling Mark she was already looking forward to it. "It'll be just like old times. The first thing we need to do is actually track this MacNab down. That shouldn't be too difficult, as MacGovern has given us an address. We'll need to follow him around for a few days and see where he goes and who he meets. "Meanwhile I'll give some of my contacts a call and see whether we can't dig up anything about his finances - that's always a good indication of whether somebody's up to something or not. Do they have more money that they should have? Alternatively, are they badly in debt? You know, the usual basic stuff," said Mark. "So, it's back to hours of sitting in the car then?" Flick asked. "Well, if I have to sit around for hours, I couldn't think of anyone else I'd rather do it with. In any event, we haven't tried out the back seat in ages," Mark laughed, as Flick slapped his arm playfully. "You start packing and I'll go down to the site office and settle up our bill," Flick suggested. ------- MacNab checked for e-mail responses from the people on the database. The fact that there were only a handful of replies confirmed that Kenny must have sent out his own message to change the trigger phrase. In all likelihood the only reason there were any replies at all was because some people hadn't read their e-mails for several days. MacNab knew that most people couldn't help but read their messages from the top of their in-box rather than in the strict order they were received. That would mean they would have reached the e-mail sent from this computer before Kenny's and Kenny's new trigger phrase wouldn't have worked. Sudden realisation caused a look of utter dismay to appear on MacNab's face and a few minutes of frantic typing at the keyboard was enough to confirm that Kenny had also changed the access details for the offshore bank account. "Shit!! Fuck, fuck and double-fuck! That's it, no more games, Kenny. You're just causing too much trouble now. It's time to say goodbye for good - but you'll have to cough up the new bank details before you go of course!" MacNab considered the few remaining former pupils that were still available for controlling. Selecting the most likely of them was easy enough and e-mail messages were soon zipping across the ether with new orders to be followed. ------- Drew was pleasantly surprised at how easy it had been to book a flight to Spain's Malaga airport. He had underestimated the amount of holiday traffic there was from Glasgow to the Spanish holiday resorts and found that there were more than twenty planes heading out every day. He gambled that he would be able to find somewhere to stay when he arrived on the Spanish coast and simply threw a few items of clothing and toiletries into a small bag before calling a cab to take him to the airport. The flight was everything he had expected - nearly two hundred Glasgwegians psyching themselves up for their annual two weeks in the sun. Many had already had a few too many in the airport lounge, determined to squeeze every last drop out of their annual vacation time. The drunks were now topping things up with more alcohol from the trolley and they were really getting into a party mood. Most of the passengers were in family groups and Drew could see the kids were every bit as excited as their parents were. He tried to shut out the noise and use the three-hour flight as an opportunity to think about how he was going to use his week to find and deal with MacGovern. Occasional glances out of the small cabin window allowed him to keep a vague idea of where he was - passing over the Bay of Biscay and eventually flying high over the arid Spanish countryside. It seemed like no time at all before the plane crossed the Sierra Nevada hills and he could see the turquoise water of the Med glittering in the afternoon sun. The FlyGlobespan airbus banked as the pilot lined up with the runway at Malaga airport and Drew's ears popped as they lost altitude. Drew swallowed one last time and his ears popped again, returning his hearing to normal. The airbus' wheels hit the tarmac with a jolt and quickly he could hear the engines roaring as the pilot engaged reverse thrust to slow their speed. Looking out of the window, everything looked as foreign as Drew expected it to. Long, squat vehicles rushed around the airport apron, moving baggage and pushing planes back from their departure gates. He couldn't help but smile to himself at the impatience of the majority of the passengers. The plane hadn't yet come to a halt and already most of them had unbuckled their seatbelts and they were opening overhead lockers to pull out their hand luggage. Drew knew that it would be quite a while yet before they would be able to disembark and he remained seated. The two passengers on his inside weren't happy with his lack of movement - clearly intent on joining in the rush to go nowhere fast, just like everybody else. Drew turned to look at the man closest to him. "What's the rush? We're going to get off in strict seat order, so you might as well take the weight off of your feet. It'll be another ten minutes probably before you can go anywhere, he advised. Neither the man nor his wife seemed to believe him but as he was blocking their way there was nothing they could do but take his advice. "Ladies and gentlemen, this is Captain Murdoch. Welcome to Malaga. Local time is 15:00 so you might want to adjust your watches from UK time. The temperature outside is 37 degrees and as you can all see it's a beautiful sunny day here in Spain. We'll be leaving the aircraft on the port side and you will be bussed to the terminal to complete your journey. Please take care when leaving the aircraft. "Can I take this opportunity of thanking you for flying with FlyGlobespan and wishing you all a very enjoyable holiday?" Drew's estimate of the time it would take before the passengers crowding into the narrow centre aisle cleared was pretty accurate. He waited until the masses in front of him thinned out as they snaked forward before standing and retrieving his small bag from the locker. The couple on the inside seats were still agitated about being made to wait but he simply ignored them as he made his way up towards the front exit. Two of the uniformed and heavily made-up cabin crew flashed him their painted on smiles and wished him a good day as he left the plane. He moved down the steps that had been pushed up against the airbus. The heat outside the plane hit him like a solid force and he squinted at the glare from the sun. An articulated bus sat on the tarmac waiting for the passengers and it wasn't long before Drew was heading towards the Malaga terminal building. It was a relief to step inside the air-conditioned building and escape the blistering heat. He took his time winding his way up a number of ramps as he followed the signs proclaiming Arrivals. The walk through the terminal was quite a long one and it took almost five minutes before Drew was approaching the little booths that housed the security personnel who were checking passports. His passport was given only a cursory glance and he moved through into the cavernous arrivals hall. Two local Spanish policemen were waiting, one of them holding a small sign with Drew's name on it. "I'm DI MacIntosh," he said, introducing himself. "I am Juan and this is Ignacio. We have been sent to meet you Senor Maceentosh. Do you have any other bags to pick up? No? Okay, come, we have a car outside and my superiors want to meet you to tell you about the rules for your visit." Another of the passengers from the FlyGlobespan airbus hurried to follow the three policemen as they headed for the exit to the terminal building. The arrivals hall was full of excited holidaymakers, all either searching for their baggage or intent on forcing their way through the crowds to find a taxi. Drew's shadow was a Dundee doctor by the name of Wilson Bankier. Bankier had been watching Drew for over a week having been ordered to do so by MacNab, using the trigger phrase to take control of the doctor. Bankier had been virtually living out of his car since then for fear he might miss Drew doing something important. That meant he hadn't returned to his house and hadn't received Kenny's e-mail that would have overridden the Church of Cyberscience trigger phrase. He forced his way through he crowds now, nothing else in the world mattered other than keeping DI MacIntosh in sight so that he could report where he went and if he contacted the headteacher. That was what the Church expected of him and he wouldn't, couldn't let the Church down. Juan indicated a white police car with a broad dark green stripe going up over its hood, roof and trunk. An impressive golden coat of arms was picked out on the front door. "This will not take long and then I will drop you wherever you are staying while you are our guest," said Juan. Drew slid into the rear seat of the police car. He turned his head when he heard angry shouts behind him. There was a queue of travellers waiting for taxis outside the airport and he smiled as he realised somebody had obviously taken a cab before it was their turn. In the taxi behind the police car, Wilson Bankier ignored the angry words and gestures from the people who weren't happy that he had just walked to the head of the queue. Wilson had spotted the detective getting into the police car and he couldn't afford to lose him. He tried to explain to the taxi driver that he wanted him to follow the police car. The driver looked at the angry people outside his cab and then at the police car in front. When he spoke it was in broken English. "One hundred Euros up front, Senor. You pay one hundred Euros or we no go anywhere." The taxi driver had correctly weighed up Wilson's urgency and he was unashamedly taking advantage of it by demanding money before he would even start the car's engine. Wilson glanced anxiously ahead at the police car and then hurriedly pulled two fifty Euro notes from his wallet and handed them over. "Why you follow policia?" the driver asked. "Look, I've paid you what you asked. Can't you just drive? Alright, alright. I'm interested in where the man with the police is going, okay? Satisfied?" The taxi driver shrugged and turned to face the front. The police car pulled away from the kerb and the taxi swung into traffic to follow. Wilson alternated his gaze between the police car in front and the scenery they were passing through that he could see out of the side window. Everything looked alien to him - from the style of the buildings he passed to the vivid oleanders, mimosa, bougainvillea and palms that ornamented the central verge of the highway. The heat made the air outside the taxi shimmer and everywhere he looked there was dust and evidence of the arid climate. Within ten minutes the view from the cab changed as they were clearly entering a more built-up area. Wilson took note of one of the overhead road-signs and realised they were moving into the city of Malaga itself. The police car indicated and cut across the road to pull into a walled enclosure. The taxi driver pulled the cab over to the kerb and stopped. He turned to look at his passenger. "Police car go to police headquarters," he said, pointing needlessly at the large sign on the building opposite. "We'll wait," said Bankier, pulling another two fifty Euro notes from his wallet and handing them over. The taxi driver took the money, shrugged and turned to face the front once more. He kept the engine running so that the air-conditioning would keep them cool but clearly had taken the hint that Wilson wasn't in the mood for conversation. The wait was blessedly short and within twenty minutes Wilson and his driver both spotted the same car emerging from the police headquarters carpark. The taxi pulled out to get behind it once more and they began to thread their way through the now busy Malaga streets. Both cars navigated to the main coastal route - the A-7 - and Wilson relaxed slightly in the rear of the taxi as they sped along. The signs told him they passed through Guadalmar and Torremolinos before leaving the motorway and heading into Benalmadena. Benalmadena was obviously a tourist resort, with its wall to wall hotels and apartment buildings lining both sides of the main road through the town. At street level there was a dizzying amount of bars and open-air restaurants catering to the crowds of sun-seekers, the gaudy parasols shading cheap plastic tables and chairs. Wilson could see the town's beaches and the blue Mediterranean Sea between the hotels on his left. The police car swung right at a junction and Bankier saw a sign announcing that they were headed for somewhere called Arroyo De La Meil. Perhaps a mile further along this road the police car pulled over in front of a medium sized hotel. Wilson watched the detective get out of the car and thank the two Spanish policemen. He hoisted his small bag and climbed a short flight of steps before entering the hotel. "Gracias," Wilson said to the taxi driver, as he too now got out. He waited a few minutes while the taxi pulled away and disappeared. By then he was satisfied that the detective had checked into the hotel opposite and that it would be safe to approach. The smiling girl behind the reception desk confirmed that they did have accommodation available and she offered Wilson a choice of a family suite or a double room. He took the double and when she turned to fetch his key, he leaned over the desk to look at the last registration. He saw the name MacIntosh and the room number 10A. Drew dropped his bag on the large double bed and walked over to the sliding glass door that led out onto his room's balcony. The meeting with the Spanish police had been mercifully short. He had been told what he could and couldn't do - which basically amounted to him being allowed to wander around as much as he wanted but without any special powers. If he wanted to arrest anybody he would need to ask the Spanish to do it for him. The glass door slid open easily and he walked out onto the small balcony, feeling the baking heat blanket him once more. There was a small white plastic table and two chairs on the balcony and he dropped himself into one - looking out over the hotel's pool area. "Okay, I'm here and MacGovern's here somewhere too - unless he's already managed to buy passage on a boat. Now, oh great detective, just how are you going to track him down? You've got a week. Most cases get solved due to good old-fashioned police work. I need to focus on doing the bread and butter stuff - get out on the streets, pound the pavements, speak to people." He decided there was no time like the present to act on his thoughts, so he rummaged through his bag until he found the thick brown envelope he had hurriedly stuffed in there before leaving the station on Glasgow. Once he had the envelope, Drew grabbed his room key and headed out of the hotel. One of the main attractions in Benalmadena was its marina and that's where Drew headed first. The marina was a sprawling, snaking mass of bars, restaurants and small shops selling tourist trinkets, fake DVDs and even faker designer label clothing. Everything was crowded round the 's' shaped berths for hundreds of luxury motor cruisers - the toys of the rich. It was a place to see and be seen and as such a must for virtually every holidaymaker. Wherever there was a mass of tourists there was a swarm of touts to surround them and Drew wasn't disappointed at the number of touts milling through the marina. The touts were trying to entice people into all manner of things - from timeshare apartments to night-clubs, to the many visitor attractions in the surrounding area. He delved into the envelope he had with him. It contained several hundred copies of a picture of Kenny MacGovern's face. On the reverse of the picture was the message announcing a £100 reward for information on the man's whereabouts and a number to call. The number was being monitored by some of Glasgow's finest back at the station. Drew began handing out copies of the picture to the touts on the basis that they were always on the streets and were an ideal army of watchers. Once he had covered as many touts as he could see, Drew made his way through the bars and restaurants looking for those that were clearly owned by Brits. He stopped in each bar and handed over a copy of Kenny MacGovern's picture with a request that the bar owners keep their eyes open for the wanted man. His next stops were the main bus station in Benalmadena town and then he took a train into the main bus terminal in nearby Fuengirola. At both locations he found further armies of touts and he made his rounds, handing out more and more copies of MacGovern's picture. It was late afternoon/early evening before Drew was satisfied that he had done enough for his first day. The sun was still incredibly hot and he had to admit to himself that he was becoming tired. The train journey from Fuengirola didn't take long. After so many tiring hours handing out pictures, Drew was completely unaware of the irony that he was only a few hundred yards away from Kenny MacGovern at one point. The last station before Arroyo De La Miel was Torremuelle - where Kenny had rented his villa. ------- Kenny spent several more hours browsing through the files on the remote computer. What he found left no doubt that it was indeed Luke MacNab's computer and that it was Luke who had been controlling him for years. He spent sufficient time browsing to satisfy himself that there wasn't anything of use to him on Luke's PC and then took the decision to fry his one-time friend's hard disc. Kenny flicked through the various files he had created to defend his own computer and selected one of his favourites. This programme was one of his all-time masterpieces. It zoned in on any virus that attempted to infect his system and then unleashed an attack that multiplied in intensity. If the target programme was set to spawn and fragment, then Kenny's split with it and kept right on eating the invader. A few minutes altering the programme code turned his own programme into a hunter rather than a defender and he wasted no time in uploading it to Luke's PC and turning it loose. Once he was satisfied the programme was working its devastating magic; Kenny broke the remote connection and turned his attention to something else. He had two urgent priorities to attend to before he began working with each individual on the database to try to restore them to what they had been. The first priority was to take down the sugar & spice web-site and destroy all of its content. The fact that he had been involved in setting something like that up, and that pervs the world over were getting-off on looking at the young girls still made him sick to his stomach. His next task was to send an e-mail message to all of the names on the database with an order for them to cease trying to film their family and friends to make future content for the web-site. When he had completed both of these tasks, Kenny somehow felt much better about himself. He hadn't consciously stolen the young girls' innocence and he had now acted to undo as much as he could. ------- Mark and Flick had been following Luke MacNab around for two days and had little to show for their efforts. MacNab worked as an accountant with a government agency that was based in Dundee and he seemed to do little else. There were no hints that he might be involved in anything illegal and he didn't meet with anyone that aroused suspicion. MacNab had just entered one of the bars in Dundee's City centre and Mark decided it was his turn to go inside and keep an eye on their subject. "I'll go in and see what he's up to." "Okay, get me a snack would you?" asked Flick. Mark left the car and hurried across the road. He entered the bar and walked directly to the counter, ordering a pint of lager and several packets of nuts. The mirror behind the bar allowed him to quickly scan the inside of MacSorley's and easily spot MacNab sitting with a small group of others. There was a large plasma screen TV on one wall and it was tuned to a sports channel. Mark could see that it was showing a re-run of the football match from the night before and he decided it would provide enough of an excuse for him to sit at a table close to MacNab and his group. Once seated, he examined the group out of the corner of his eye. Apart from Luke MacNab there were four others - three men and one girl. At first glance the girl looked too young to be in a bar at all, the catholic schoolgirl uniform she was wearing emphasising that point. The three men all looked like normal, upstanding citizens and from the conversations that Mark could overhear, they were laughing and joking like anyone else would when having a few beers with their friends. The girl rose from the table and headed past him towards the toilets. As she drew closer to him, Mark could see that he had been badly mistaken about her age. Up close she looked old before her time - certainly well past the age that she would have been legitimately entitled to wear the school uniform she was in. The girl's face was almost skeletal and her skin a pallid grey colour. She threw Mark a predatory look as she shuffled past. There was another interested look a ten minutes later when she returned from whatever she had been doing. Mark was sure he detected something in the girl's eyes, something that hadn't been there when she had passed him the first time. Drugs. He was pretty sure. There was a kind of vacant and goofy aspect to the girl's expression and Mark could clearly see just how dilated her pupils were. She gave him a lop-sided smile and resumed her seat with MacNab and the others. Mark felt he was learning something from the conversations he was overhearing - even if that was only that Luke MacNab's friends all seemed to be pretty normal people. He bought himself a second pint and continued to pretend he was watching the football on TV. So far he had figured out that the other men with MacNab were workmates and that they all hated the director they worked for. There were a lot of comments about the director's bullying and what a shit manager he was. Mark looked up as two distinct movements caught his eye. The girl in the school uniform had stood up once more and she was heading in his direction again. Behind her, making her way to the bar, Flick had also just entered MacSorley's, no doubt bored at sitting in the car outside on her own. He avoided making any kind of eye contact with the girl, hoping she would simply pass him by once more, but instead she pulled out a chair at his table and sat down. "You must be better company than that shower," she said. "I'm sorry?" Mark replied. "That lot," she said, gesturing over her shoulder at MacNab and the others. "Take my advice, if you're looking for a good night out don't go to the pub with a bunch of accountants." The advice was pretty much redundant as far as Mark was concerned. The idea of spending a night in the pub with a group of accountants was pretty low down on his list of 'must have' experiences. "You look like you're much more fun," the girl added and she slid her chair over closer to Mark. "Look, I'm just watching the football okay?" he tried to deflect her interest. Mark glanced quickly over to the bar and saw that Flick had a grin on her face and a glass of wine in her hand. His attention was dragged abruptly back to the table when he felt the girl's hand sliding up his thigh. "Do you think you could show me a good time big guy?" Mark gulped in the face of the sexually aggressive, drug using and somewhat haggard girl. He dropped his own hand from the table and tried to remover hers from his leg before it rose too high. "Please, I don't even know you," he said. "That's easily fixed. My name's Jennifer. There, that's sorted. Now where were we?" "Get your own man, bitch. This one's definitely taken!" said Flick as she slid onto Mark's lap and gave the girl an icy stare. Mark's relief was tempered by a little concern over what the girl's reaction would be. He was pretty sure she had just taken drugs and depending on what kind of drugs it was possible she could turn violent. Flick showed no such concern and she simply continued to stare the other girl out. At last it was the girl in the school uniform that blinked first and she stood to leave. "You're welcome to him. He's probably a pencil-dick anyway," she sneered before re-joining Luke MacNab and his workmates. "Phew! Thanks. I didn't know where that was going, but you certainly saved the day. God knows where she's been and what her hands have been touching. I certainly didn't want them anywhere near my dick. Did you see her eyes - completely away with the fairies! I'm pretty sure she's just taken drugs," Mark babbled. "Would you have let her touch you if you thought her hands were clean?" Flick teased. "Did you see the state of her? Not so much 'mutton dressed as lamb' as 'mutton dressed as pig'. She's awful! She might have been a looker when she was younger, but whatever kind of life she's been living, it's not been kind to her. She looks about forty and the school uniform is certainly out of place, don't you think?" "Never mind, baby. I've still got mine and I think I can still fit into it if that's what gets you going," Flick giggled. ------- Chapter 19 Drew had only two days of his week left when the call came in. A WPC from the Glasgow station phoned his mobile to advise that someone had reported seeing someone who looked like Kenny MacGovern. The sighting was recorded as being at a small supermarket in a place called Torremuelle. The receptionist at the hotel was very helpful and explained to Drew that Torremuelle was only a few miles further along the coast road from Arroyo. It was still early, only just after 10am, but Drew decided he needed to check this call out. He asked the receptionist to order him a taxi and he made sure he had a copy of MacGovern's photo with him. The taxi ride took all of five minutes and Drew could tell the driver was a little bit put out at the short fare. He paid and gave the man a generous tip by way of apology and got out of the cab. The sign above the small general store proclaimed 'supermercado' but there was nothing 'super' about it. Wandering inside the store, he could see that it stocked a wide variety of goods from food and alcohol to beachware, books and general hardware. Drew approached the woman behind the cash desk and held out the picture of Kenny MacGovern. "Can you tell me if this man has been here?" he asked, the excitement in his voice barely disguised. The woman peered closely at the picture and then looked at Drew. "Why do you want to know?" she asked in passable English. Drew pulled out his ID and held it out to the woman. "I'm a policeman from Scotland. I'm searching for this man. He's done some bad things and I need to find him." The woman looked at MacGovern's picture again and seemed to be considering her next response. She glanced at Drew's ID and then up at his face, perhaps calculating whether to cooperate or not. Drew could almost see her come to a decision. "Si. He has been in the store every day for the past week. He buys only enough for one person, but like all of you crazy British he buys gallons of water." "Do you now where he is staying?" Drew asked. The quizzical look he got from the woman suggested she hadn't understood the way he had phrased his question, so he tried again. "Do you know what house he is living in?" "No, Senor. He comes, he buys, he goes." "Does he come at the same time each day?" Drew asked. "Sometimes in the morning, sometimes in the afternoon just after I re-open after siesta," the woman replied. "Thank you. It would be a big help if you didn't tell him someone is looking for him," Drew suggested. The woman simply shrugged and Drew hoped that meant she wasn't going to alert MacGovern. He bought a 2L bottle of water out of one of the store's many fridges and walked back out into the sunlight. Looking around, he took in a restaurant up a steep flight of steps and, directly opposite the store, a bar with tables on the sidewalk. The store had a rack outside with newspapers in it and Drew decided to take up station at one of the bar's tables with a newspaper as cover. He found an English newspaper and paid for it before crossing the road and taking a seat. The bar clearly sold food, as it had a large board displayed with pictures of a variety of dishes with prices written on them. Its clientele must be mainly tourists, as Drew noticed that all of the dishes were either British - bacon and eggs etc - or touristy Spanish dishes such as paella. When a waiter eventually wandered out from the bar, Drew ordered a plain omelette and a white coffee. He shuffled his chair around until he was content that he had a good view of the store and the approaches to it then began to glance idly through the pages of the newspaper. He looked up as another lone customer took a seat at one of the bar's tables. Drew nodded to the newcomer and then seemingly immersed himself back into the newspaper to discourage any kind of conversation. Wilson Bankier had a novel with him and he pretended to be reading it as he tried to figure out why the detective had rushed to this spot and now seemed to be intent on having a leisurely breakfast. When the waiter brought the policeman's omelette and coffee, Wilson ordered a coffee and croissant. The doctor quickly guessed that the detective was waiting for something. The way he was dragging out each mouthful of the omelette, each sip of the coffee made that obvious. His pulse quickened with the prospect that perhaps the detective was about to lead him to his ultimate prize. A rustle of the newspaper and a sudden tightening of the detective's posture alerted Wilson that something had grabbed his attention. He tried to figure out what the detective was looking at and saw that his gaze was locked on the small store on the opposite side of the road. Wilson couldn't see anything interesting about the store and returned his attention to the detective. He almost laughed out loud at the detective's antics with the newspaper, as he held it up higher and peered round it. Minutes later the paper was folded and dropped onto the table as the policeman hastily placed some Euros under the plate the omelette had been on and stood up. Glancing across the road once more, Wilson now saw what had the detective so excited. He recognised the man who was leaving the store and already turning to walk up the hill that lay behind it. Kenny MacGovern, the headteacher! Drew knew he had to be cautious and avoid MacGovern realising he was being followed. He left money on the table to pay for his breakfast and raced across the road, keeping the store between him and his target. He edged up to the corner of the building and glanced round it quickly. The teacher was taking his time walking up the hill through the residential area. When he reached a corner and turned, Drew hurried forward to follow. Behind him, he didn't notice Wilson Bankier almost mirroring the steps that he had taken. Once he made it to the corner, Drew carefully poked his head beyond the white stuccoed wall of a garden and saw MacGovern still walking slowly ahead of him. The teacher glanced back to check for traffic and Drew jerked his head back out of sight. When he dared look again, the teacher was crossing the road and turning another corner further up the hill on the right. Drew carefully followed the teacher up the hill for another five minutes and Wilson Bankier followed just as cautiously behind him. On one final corner, Drew peered round some colourful shrubs and watched as the teacher walked up a path and entered one of the villas. He waited several minutes and then took a chance and walked past the villa on the other side of the street. There wasn't much to see, but Drew was satisfied that he now knew where MacGovern's base was. He felt relief that he had found the teacher before he had managed to make plans to get out of Spain. Now all he had to do was convince his Spanish counterparts to arrest MacGovern before he disappeared again. Drew set off back down the hill towards the main road. He passed the man who had been at the other table in the bar and he nodded in recognition as he passed. Wilson had noted which of the villas the detective had been focused on and he walked past it and on up the street. He glanced over his shoulder to make sure the policeman was now out of sight and then fished a mobile phone from his pocket. He hit one of the speed-dial buttons and waited for an answer. "Hello?" "I've located the teacher." "Where are you?" "Spain. I followed the policeman to the Costa Del Sol. The teacher's in a villa here." "He needs to be removed at once. Do whatever it takes; there's money available if you need it. Remember, I need you to extract details of an offshore bank account before he's removed." "I'll be in touch," said Wilson, ending the call. ------- Kenny put the few groceries he had purchased in the fridge and decided to spend some time online before exercising in the villa's pool. He fired up the PC and began a task that had occurred to him as being of possible use. He had kept all of the responses to his e-mail message aimed at changing the trigger phrase for the former pupils on his database. Now he quickly wrote a short programme that cross-referenced the e-mail responses with the database records. This new programme identified all of those on the database that hadn't yet responded and gave him an indication of how many people remained under the control of Luke MacNab. He was dismayed to see that there were over a hundred names in that category. Kenny closed down the programme and decided to check his e-mail. His excitement surged when he saw that he had an e-mail from Mark MacGhee and he opened it immediately. Mr MacGovern, I'm still not sure I believe a word of what you claim - to be honest it all seems too far-fetched to have any basis in reality - but as you said in your message, I don't lose anything by checking into Luke MacNab's background. I have to tell you that so far Mr MacNab looks squeaky clean to me. I'm willing to give it another few days but unless you've got something for me to work with, I don't think this is going anywhere. Perhaps it's time for you to give yourself up and let the police handle this? M MacGhee Kenny read and then re-read the message. On the face of it he should have been disappointed with Mark MacGhee's lack of belief and lack of any progress. The opposite was the case however. The fact that the journalist was bothering to take the time to investigate Luke at all was a significant boost. Kenny was sure that Luke was 'dirty' and it would only be a matter of time before MacGhee unearthed something about him. He just had to hope that that happened before the journalist gave up. ------- Drew knew that patience wasn't one of his strengths. He had his mobile phone in one hand as he walked down the hill and the card with the contact number for his Spanish Police liaison in the other. Having located his target, the last thing he wanted was a delay in picking him up. Any delay could allow MacGovern to bolt, although Drew had to admit the teacher's relaxed appearance didn't suggest he was about to flee anytime soon. "Hello? Is that Juan? Yes. Juan, listen, I've found the man I've been looking for. No, he's in a villa in a place called Torremuelle. How quickly can you get men here to pick him up?" Drew stopped walking as he heard Juan's apologies. "I am sorry Senor Maceentosh. It's not as simple as that. You need to understand that this man has committed no crime in Espana. I suggest we pick you up and we can discuss this with my superiors." "Juan, the Spanish authorities have already confirmed that they will cooperate with the UK authorities. The fact that this man hasn't committed a crime in Spain is irrelevant. I need you to pick this man up before he disappears again. There's no time to waste. This needs to be done now," Drew urged. "Where are you Senor? I will come and pick you up and we can discuss this, no?" Drew's frustration threatened to overwhelm him, but he could tell that losing his temper wasn't going to make things go any quicker. He described where he was and Juan suggested he would only be fifteen minutes or so. Ending the call, Drew tried to remain calm as he resumed his trek down the hill towards the main road. ------- Wilson remained concealed until he saw the detective picked up by a Spanish police car. Once he felt it was safe to move, he returned to the bar and ordered a diet coke and wracked his considerable brain trying to think of how he was going to carry out the Church's latest orders. "Where am I going to find someone to do what the Church wants? There are bound to be all kinds of criminal elements here who would do anything for the right amount of money. There's even a whole host of dodgy characters from the UK who live here on the Costa Del Sol. Hardly a week goes by without the newspapers at home reporting another 'Mr Big' living the good-life on the back of one armed heist or another. "My problem is how to find the right person and how to get them to take me seriously enough to kill a man without any delays? I suppose that money does have a tendency to overcome reluctance and the Church has indicated that money is available. What's the going rate in Spain for something like this?" Wilson stared off into the distance, his gaze on the shimmering Mediterranean. Shaking himself, he pulled his mobile phone from his pocket and glanced round to make sure no one could overhear him. He hit the speed dial once more and waited for an answer. "Hello?" "It's me. Look, I can't see how I'm going to be able to find somebody to do what you want. I don't know anybody here and the police could be along at any minute to pick the teacher up. It's too risky." "Wilson, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" The doctor's eyes glazed over at the use of the trigger phrase. "Lister carefully, Wilson. The Church needs you to kill the teacher yourself. What you have said is true; there is no time for you to find someone else to do this and the police could pick him up at any time. That has to be avoided at all costs. The Church of Cyberscience wants you to do this, Wilson. Now, the Church of Cyberscience is ended." Wilson shook himself and looked down quizzically at the mobile phone in his hand. He couldn't remember taking the phone out of his pocket or who he had intended to call. The phone went back into his pocket and he stood up, a purposeful expression settling on his face. He had a job to do for the Church and there was no time to waste. Crossing the road, Bankier entered the 'supermercado' and he looked around for something that would help him do the Church's work. A board on one wall held a series of cheap chef's knives and he made a beeline for them. Freeing one from its binding, he tested the blade and examined the point. The blade was about seven inches long and one and a half inches wide. Satisfied that it was just what he needed, he made his way to the cash desk and paid for the blade. The woman carefully wrapped it up in a few sheets of plain paper before handing it to him without a second glance. Bankier was still urgent in his movements. The Church had confirmed that there was no time to lose, this job had to be done immediately. He exited the store and began walking briskly up the hill, ignoring the heat. Finding the street where his target was proved easy enough and there was no pause as he walked up the path towards the villa's front door. "Don't forget the bank account details! Wound him first and then get the information before finishing him off." The doctor rang the bell and stood waiting. He held the knife behind his back and carefully slid the paper wrapping from it, gripping the handle firmly in his right hand. Kenny MacGovern opened the door and the doctor lunged at him, the blade flashing in the sunlight. ------- "Where are we going?" Drew asked. "We need to speak to my superiors, Senor. I can't just take a decision on my own to arrest this man. How do I know we have the right suspect?" "In my country we tend to believe a colleague when he says he can identify a suspect. I'm telling you that I have positively identified the man I've been looking for. What harm is there in simply picking this man up before he runs? If I'm wrong, it's me that will feel the heat. If you're wrong and he bolts, it's your neck on the line. This guy has got a history of running, why do you think he's here in the first place?" Drew held Juan's eyes with his own. The intensity of his stare was unsettling for the Spaniard and he looked away, clearly troubled by Drew's words. Drew spoke quickly to try to drive his point home. "He could be escaping right now. You know better than me how easy it would be for him to cross over into Portugal or to pay some fisherman to take him over to Africa. Are you willing to take the risk? How are you going to explain this to your superiors if we lose this man?" Juan glanced at Drew once more, the expression on his face making it clear that he was weakening. "Are you sure this is the man?" he asked. Drew fought to keep the smile of triumph from his face. "Yes, no doubt. It's him." "Okay, we pick him up and if this is wrong it's your responsibility," Juan sighed. Juan's partner, Ignacio, had remained silent in the front seat beside him as the pair had argued. His hand dropped now to loosen the revolver in the holster on his hip, a small smile appearing on his lips. Juan took the next exit from the A-7 and turned the car round to head back in the direction they had just come from. They passed the small general store and wound their way up the hill through the residential streets with Drew giving directions on which turns to make. "It's the third villa on the left," Drew advised. Juan braked the police car to a halt and they could all see the front door to the villa was lying open. "Something's up!" cried Drew, leaping from the car. "Senor Maceentosh! Stay back, leave this to us!" screamed Juan. Drew ignored him and dashed up the path and through the front door. ------- Kenny opened the villa's front door and a man lunged at him with a wicked looking knife. Despite his surprise, he managed to jump backwards, away from the flashing blade, but in his panic he overbalanced. He felt himself falling and watched in horror as his attacker continued forward, the knife hurtling towards him. Everything seemed to slow down for Kenny. He felt his right elbow crash into the marble tiles in the hallway, closely followed by his butt, the small of his back and finally the back of his head. The man with the knife had dived forward and he was descending on top of him. Kenny fought to keep his wits about him, despite the jarring fall and the crack to his head. His eyes were focused on the knife blade and he could see it arcing towards his chest. Somehow he managed to twist his body but still felt the sting of the blade slicing through his skin and the shock of it ricocheting off of the bone of his ribs. His fear and the mortal danger he was in released a torrent of adrenaline into his bloodstream and Kenny found superhuman strength. Everything was still moving slowly, as he grabbed his attacker's shoulders, bucked his hips violently off of the hall floor and threw the man to the side. As Kenny scrambled to his feet, everything returned to normal speed and he made a dash for the kitchen and the back door. He risked a look over his shoulder and saw that the knife wielder was already on his feet and hell bent on catching him. He reached the back door and wrenched it open. ------- Drew raced through the open door, his senses on full alert, his brain processing the flood of data that was suddenly bombarding it. He saw a man with a knife running away from him, deeper into the villa. Beyond the running man he could see Kenny MacGovern frantically trying to escape through the villa's back door. He recognised traces of blood on the hall floor. It didn't take a rocket scientist to realise that MacGovern was under attack. "STOP! ARMED POLICE!" bellowed Drew in an attempt to slow the attacker. He felt an arm push him violently to one side and Juan appeared, his revolver held in a classic two-handed, straight-armed stance. As Drew tried to warn Juan not to shoot the teacher, he heard two shots being fired and watched as the man wielding the knife jerked as if he had been hit violently between the shoulders. A stain of red blood began to appear even before the man slumped to the kitchen floor. Drew raced forward. MacGovern had leapt through the kitchen door and he was determined not to lose his man. Hurdling the fallen body, he slammed the door fully open and emerged into the rear garden of the villa. The teacher was just visible, disappearing through a gate in the rear fence of the property. Drew gave chase, Juan and his partner no longer following but instead focusing on the wounded, perhaps dead man. The gate was unlatched and Drew yanked it open. Beyond was a steep banked gorge, the product of a some-time river perhaps that had now dried up. The banks were overgrown with palm and thick, tall pampas grass but a path led off through the vegetation and Drew could see MacGovern racing along it. Already beginning to struggle for breath, Drew followed. The path wound its way downward and passed under an arched bridge that spanned the gorge and obviously supported the main A-7 coastal road above. The teacher was stretching the distance between them and Drew could feel his chest tightening, as his breathing became laboured and painful. Under the bridge the vegetation thinned and Drew could see that the gorge fell away too, spilling out onto the beach and the Mediterranean beyond. His quarry was already three-quarters of the way up a steep set of steps that led upwards, back to the road above. The detective groaned but forced himself to follow. He had to pause half-way up or he would have collapsed with the effort and by the time he reached the top of the steps he was sure he was going to die. Slumping over the metal road-side crash barrier, Drew wheezed and gasped for breath. There was no sign of MacGovern and Drew knew he had lost his man for now. ------- The next few days were a severe test of Kenny's mental strength. His senses had been heightened by the fear generated by the knife attack and he hadn't failed to register that it had been the Glasgow detective who had burst into the villa and then chased him. After managing to outrun the detective he had had to prioritise his next moves. The knife wound wasn't life threatening but it was deep enough to require stitching and the blood soaking the short-sleeved shirt he was wearing was attracting way too much attention. The first priority was therefore to stop the bleeding, somehow stitch the wound and to get cleaned up and into fresh clothes. His escape had taken him further along the coast from Torremuelle towards Fuengirola. The road-signs proclaimed that the area he entered was called 'Los Boliches' and like all the other population centres in this part of Spain, it catered largely for tourists. His first purchase was a huge beach-towel from one of the many stalls that were set up along the promenade. Folding the towel, he held it between his arm and his side. That helped staunch the flow of blood and also neatly covered up the large stain that was evident on his shirt. Having managed to look less conspicuous, he found a pharmacia and purchased some basic medical supplies. He also managed to buy some cheap beachware and a needle and some cotton. Walking along the beach, he looked for and found a rocky promontory and sat down close to it, away from other beach goers. Kenny covered his lower half with the beach towel and changed into the swimming shorts he had just bought. He made sure he had the needle threaded with cotton and then waded into the water until it was up past the wound on his side. He carefully washed as much of the blood out of his shirt as he could and then pulled it off over his head before rolling it up and throwing it back towards the shore. He glanced around to make sure no one was close enough to see what he was doing and then made his way back towards the beach until the waters of the Med were once again below where the cut was on his side. Gritting his teeth he used his left hand to pinch the skin on both sides of the gash together and sewed them as quickly as he could. Back on the beach, he sat on his towel and dressed the wound that was still weeping small drops of blood and then taped it up with surgical tape. Once he had pulled on the new T-shirt he had bought he relaxed a little, as there was no longer any visible evidence of either the knife-wound or any blood. "Fuck that was too close! Who was that guy and why was he trying to kill me? Where did MacIntosh come from?" It didn't take Kenny long to come to the conclusion that the attacker and the detective were linked. He was nearly right in his next guess; he just had the order of things a little back to front. "Luke must have sent that guy to kill me, he must have been under Luke's control. Somehow he's tracked me down and wants me out of the picture. The policeman obviously followed the killer - it's damned lucky for me that he did. That guy was fucking scary. "What the hell do I do now? All I've got is the money and the cards in my wallet. No passport. No car. Where the fuck do I go?" Lying on the beach he forced himself to calm down and to apply his considerable intellect to the problems he faced. He needed money. He needed somewhere to stay. He needed a long-term plan about what to do next to try to clear his name. "Okay brain-box, how about this. First off try to find an Internet café and transfer some funds from the offshore account into a local bank. You've got you're driving license in your wallet, that should be enough ID to arrange a bank transfer. "The best bet for now is to get away from here. Luke has obviously tracked me some how and now the police know I'm here too. So, where to go? Without a passport that might be tricky. But, Spain is the biggest fishing nation in Europe so it must have a big fleet of fishing boats. Maybe that's my ticket out of Spain? Where do I want to go? Possibly somewhere else along the Mediterranean? Africa? No, without a passport that's probably just asking for trouble." He lay back on the large beach towel and tried to come up with an answer to where would be safest, where would he stand the best chance of making progress in bringing this nightmare to an end? "I need to go back to Scotland. Luke's the key to all of this and that's where he is. I'm getting nowhere running away from him, it's time I took the fight to him for a change. Maybe the journalist has already made a breakthrough? "If I'm going to try to get passage in a fishing boat then I'm probably at the absolute wrong end of Spain. The fishermen here are more likely to stick to the Med. It will be the fleets in the North that fish around the North Sea and the Atlantic and it's one of those boats that is most likely to be my ticket back to Scotland. I need to do some research on that when I'm in the Internet café." Kenny came to the conclusion that he had covered the main problems he faced for the moment and that the sooner he was away from the area the better. He had no idea how Luke had tracked him down but it was definitely time to be on the move. He packed up his few possessions and folded the towel before walking along the front towards the centre of Fuengirola. He decided to check out a bank before finding an Internet café as he realised he would need the details to arrange the bank transfer. It was surprisingly easy to make the arrangements and the bank assistant even helpfully directed him to the nearest Internet facility. Kenny first of all transferred a sizeable sum into his own bank account so he could use his bank card at will. He then transferred enough cash to the Fuengirola bank to cover what he thought it would take to pay for an illegal passage on a fishing trawler. It was a simple matter to google the main fishing ports in Spain and he zoomed in on the google map which displayed those that were in the North of the country. Gijon, Santander and Bilbao were all on Spain's north coast on the Bay of Biscay. He estimated the distance to the north coast was around 900km from where he was and an idea came to him. If he made the journey by train he could perhaps sleep on the train and avoid the need to find accommodation for the night. Some further work on the Internet café PC allowed Kenny to search for and find train times from Malaga to Bilbao and Santander. Although everything was in Spanish, he could understand enough to realise he would need to change trains in Madrid. Satisfied that his idea was a good one, he noted down the train times and logged-off of the computer. Picking up the money from the bank transfer was easy enough but carrying such a large sum of cash made him feel extremely nervous. He bought a money-belt at the first stall he came to on the way to Fuengirola train station - it seemed to be a must-have item for tourists keen to avoid pickpockets and bag snatchers. The belt was soon strapped round his waist with the pouch to the front, underneath his shirt, and he transferred the money to it. Minutes later he had a ticket and he boarded a train for Malaga and a connection to the north coast. ------- Drew was surprised when the dead body was turned over and he recognised the man who had sat at the bar that morning. He had a policeman's distrust of co-incidences and mentally adjusted to assume that the man had been following him in the hope that he would lead him to MacGovern. He shared that snippet with Juan and told him to check the CCTV at the airport to see whether the dead man happened to be on the same flight he had arrived on. That might help speed up identification of the body. He remained angry with his Spanish hosts. Drew felt that Juan had been altogether too quick to fire his gun with the result that they wouldn't be able to question the man on who he was and why he had been intent on killing the teacher. After coming up with the idea of spreading MacGovern's picture to the touts, after the idea proving a success, and after actually locating the teacher - to have lost him again so quickly was really annoying. "Well at least he won't be going far, not without this," Drew said aloud, holding up Kenny MacGovern's passport. A thorough search of the villa didn't throw up any clues as to where MacGovern might be found. Apart from a few items of clothing there was only the computer equipment and an empty small bag. Drew's eyes lit up when he spotted the small spiral notebook sitting on the dining room table beside the computer. He checked to see whether Juan or his partner could see him and then picked up the notebook and slipped it into the waistband of his shorts. He pulled his shirt over the notebook to conceal it and then moved away from the table innocently. He could only hope that this was the same notebook that DI Black had mentioned in his report. ------- Chapter 20 The train journey north was uneventful and Kenny did indeed manage to snatch a few hours of much needed sleep. The change over in Madrid had been the only worrying moments, as there wasn't much time between his train arriving in Madrid and the second train departing. He was surprised that he easily found his way around the vast Atocha Railway Station - scene of the carnage following the 2004 terrorist attacks on Madrid's commuter trains. He had opted to head for the smaller port of Santander rather than the larger Bilbao and it was a simple matter to find his way from the city's General Station down to the docks. All sense of security left him at that point however, and now he was huddled in a small dockside bar. Kenny was at pains to avoid making eye contact with the rough and aggressive looking seamen who filled the bar. They were already drinking spirits despite the fact it was barely 7am. Kenny knew he was potentially in a lot of danger but he had to take risks to try to secure passage on one of the fishing boats that were berthed here. His quandary was that the danger came from the very people he needed to approach to try to make a deal. Looking at the men in the bar, he could tell that they wouldn't think twice about giving him a severe beating for the kind of cash that he had on him. Kenny was desperately trying to figure out a way of agreeing a payment without risking the cash he had on him - that would be a very stupid thing to do. To make matters worse, the longer he sat nursing his coffee, the more suspicious of him the patrons of the bar were becoming. He had an idea and got up from his table, making his way out of the bar as quickly as possible. Half an hour later the burly fishermen were surprised to see Kenny return and make his way to the bar. His time hunched over a coffee earlier had allowed him to single out who the boat captains were likely to be and he picked the most disreputable looking amongst them and made his approach. His first bit of luck was that the man spoke passable English, but it took a few minutes for Kenny to find that out. "Can I have a private word with you?" Kenny asked. The trawler skipper was perhaps only five foot eleven but he was broad across the shoulders. He had almost black hair and brown eyes. His face was coloured by the thick stubble of two or three day's growth and his expression wasn't in the least bit welcoming. He stared at Kenny for a moment then shrugged and motioned towards a door at the rear of the bar. That at least suggested he had understood the request. The fisherman walked off and Kenny followed. He found himself in a narrow alley that ran behind the bar. Kenny opted to go for a direct approach. "I'm looking for passage on a boat. I need to return to Scotland, but I'd rather not take one of the normal routes, as I don't want anyone to know when I return," he started. The skipper's eyes showed he understood and that the detail of Kenny's request had him interested. "I'm willing to pay, pay well for someone who could provide such passage," Kenny added now. "Ten thousand Euros," the skipper said firmly. Kenny shrugged. He had overestimated how much the trip might cost him by fifty percent but had committed himself through the actions he had taken. He decided to make his offer the full fifteen thousand Euros he had prepared. "I'll give you fifteen thousand if we can set sail within the hour," he replied. The skipper's eyes narrowed and took on a predatory gleam. Kenny saw the eyes flicker momentarily, as if the skipper had been distracted by something. He spun round to find two muscular fishermen at his back. The mood was immediately threatening and Kenny felt a shiver race up and down his spine. His knees shook a little but he forced himself to at least appear outwardly calm. "What is to stop me taking your money and then dropping you overboard?" the skipper snarled. Kenny reached into his money pouch and withdrew a thick sheaf of one hundred and fifty One Hundred Euro banknotes. The skipper's eyes grew larger and he physically moved closer to Kenny. Kenny fanned the notes to show that what he was actually holding was a sheaf of half-notes. He had ripped the notes in half and hidden the other pieces when he had left the bar. "You can drop me over the side if you like, but I'm not going to tell you where the other pieces of these notes are until I'm on a beach in Scotland," he said, fighting to keep his voice from cracking. The skipper frowned. "And what guarantee do I have that I will ever see these other parts? He demanded. "That's easy. One of your crew will remain here with a mobile phone. When you put me on a beach in Scotland we will phone and tell him where to find the other pieces of the banknotes. They are close by so he should be able to quickly confirm he has them." The skipper laughed at Kenny's words and nodded with newfound respect. Clearly this stranger wasn't a fool. "Half an hour to finish re-fuelling and then we go," he said, pushing past Kenny and back into the bar. ------- Drew remained in his hotel room for almost a day and a half as he devoured the information contained in Kenny MacGovern's notebook. His rival, DI Roger Black, hadn't had enough information to realise what a goldmine the book represented. He hadn't known about the Church of Cyberscience and its significance. Black had therefore skimmed over the notes that explained how the money from the Hamilton brothers had been laundered. He hadn't realised the significance of the entries that dealt with the purchase of several casinos. The various things that MacGovern had noted down were mind-boggling and Drew believed he now had all of the information he required to nail the teacher for a number of major crimes. He had details of names, dates and how the commissioning of the murder of Mark MacGhee had taken place. He knew which of the accountants had cleansed the money, which of the solicitors had set up the Church as a charity and he had his confirmation about the police constable in Dundee harassing Mark MacGhee. All that Drew needed now was Kenny MacGovern himself. He felt confident that he would be able to break the teacher if he questioned him now. If some of the people involved in the various crimes also squealed, then MacGovern was bang to rights. The notebook was also mind-boggling for MacGovern's claims that he had been ordered to do everything, that he was a victim of mind control. All of it - setting up a porn web-site, the sex acts he had performed with a number of young girls, commissioning murder - all of it was down to being ordered to do so by someone else according to MacGovern. Drew mentally calculated how much money the web-site was pulling in and whistled when he came to a total. "Mind control my arse! There's your motive right there sonny. Money, pure and simple. You just couldn't get enough could you?" Drew only had one day left of his week in Spain but wasn't particularly upset at having to leave. He suspected that the teacher was either already out of the country or in the process of leaving. The detective also had a sneaking suspicion as to where his target might be heading next. Following his suggestion, Juan and Ignacio had identified the dead knife-man as one Wilson Bankier - a doctor from Dundee. As Drew has suspected, the doctor had been on the same flight as he had arrived on and had obviously been following him around. The fact that an otherwise law-abiding doctor had seemingly turned into a killer was just as much of a conundrum as the solicitor Jason Welsh attacking Mark MacGhee. That knowledge linked two things that didn't fit the overall picture that Drew was forming and that meant two things that worried him. One possible explanation for both Welsh and Bankier's actions was that they really had been subjected to mind control. If that was the case and MacGovern was the mastermind behind all of the criminal activity, why would he order someone like Bankier to attack himself? The second thing that didn't fit was that the notebook made no reference to any contact with Jason Welsh. If MacGovern had ordered the solicitor to attack MacGhee, surely it would have been mentioned in the book? If it hadn't been MacGovern who was controlling Welsh, who was? Did that lend more credibility to the claims the teacher was making that he was being controlled all along by someone else? Drew didn't like loose ends and he decided he would need to think about these things some more. Meantime he had to pack as he had a flight back to Glasgow to catch. ------- The trawler skipper was true to his word and the modern trawler Katerina put to sea without delay. The skipper and the crew left Kenny very much on his own, remaining mostly in their own cabins or on the bridge for the best part of two days. Darkness was falling on the evening of the second day when a crewmember came to the bows to tell Kenny that the skipper wished to see him. He made his way to the bridge and the captain beckoned him over to a chart that he was poring over. The skipper's right index finger stabbed at a point on the chart and Kenny looked down. "I will drop you here in two, perhaps three hours. You'd better be telling the truth about the money or you won't leave the beach," the skipper snarled. Kenny wasn't happy with the intended drop-off point, as he knew it was quite a distance from the main roads in that part of Scotland's Northeast. He shook his head and used his own finger to point at the chart slightly further north, closer to the small port of Stonehaven. "It needs to be here. There will be little traffic at the time of night you drop me so I need to be near a main road to try to get a lift. Don't worry about your money, it will all be there." The Katerina had a small dinghy with a powerful outboard and the skipper explained that they would use that to run Kenny ashore rather than risk grounding the trawler. Kenny looked dubiously at the dinghy, it wasn't very big and there was a significant swell to the sea around them. Getting from the trawler into the dinghy was a hair-raising experience in itself and Kenny was certain he was going to end up in the rough sea. At the last moment a pair of rough hands seized his arm and pulled him off of the ladder he was on and into the bobbing craft. He was still trying to gather his wits about him when the outboard roared into life and they were leaving the lights of the trawler behind. Kenny couldn't see a thing but the skipper stared past him and kept the dinghy in a straight line. He assumed the skipper's night vision was much better than his own and would have been alarmed to find out that it wasn't. The trawler captain was using a bearing taken while on the trawler and the sound of waves crashing onto the beach to navigate by. He had checked carefully and there were no reefs or rocks along this stretch of coastline so he figured it was safe. The crewmember sitting beside Kenny turned and clicked on a powerful torch to illuminate the beach that they were rapidly approaching. The skipper ran the dinghy in as close as he could before cutting the motor and raising it out of the water. Leaping over the side, he used the last of the dinghy's forward momentum to help him haul it through the last few feet of water and onto the sand. Kenny joined the skipper on the beach and took the mobile phone that was handed to him. Putting the phone to his ear, he could hear that it was already trying to connect to the crewmember who had been left behind in Santander. "Hola," he heard on the other end of the connection. Kenny proceeded to direct the man to a small ornamental garden not far from the bar he had been in a few days previously. He had noticed the little feature on his way from the railway station down to the docks and had used it as a place to hide the other half of his money. If the situation wasn't so tense it might have been laughable. Kenny had the man on the phone walk to a central ornamental pond and then turn to face the steeple of a nearby church. He had him pace out twenty-five steps and then dig in the flowerbed immediately in front of him to unearth a plastic bag with the pieces of banknote in it. It was like something out of a bad 'B'-rated pirate movie. When Kenny was sure the man had the bag, he handed the mobile phone over to the skipper. He watched as the captain's face creased into a smile, as he got his confirmation that he now had both halves of the banknotes. "So, we are finished," he said abruptly and promptly began pushing the dinghy off of the beach and back into the deeper water. The torch was turned off and the outboard motor sprang to life once more. Kenny quickly lost sight of the little boat but he could see the lights of the trawler off in the distance and he assumed the skipper would have no trouble in making it back. His own difficulty was going to be to find his way off of the beach in the darkness There was barely enough light for him to be able to make out some dunes and he began climbing the nearest of them in the hope that he would be able to see something from the top. That proved to be a good move and when Kenny had scrambled to the top of the dune he could see distant headlights marking what he thought was the A90. Making his way to the road wasn't that straightforward and he cursed as he stumbled and fell in the darkness. He had to negotiate a number of small drystone walls, which marked out some farmer's fields and at one point nearly had a heart attack when he blundered into a small flock of sheep. At last however, he made it to the road and began walking southward. The cheap watch he had bought had a little backlight and he used that to see that it was 3am. Traffic wasn't very busy but he stuck out his thumb every few minutes as someone passed him, hoping to pick up a lift. After twenty minutes of walking, a large truck pulled over and the driver asked him where he was heading. "Dundee," Kenny answered. "You're in luck, mate. I'm heading to Perth and that'll take me through Dundee. Hop in." Climbing into the truck, Kenny realised how tired he was. There hadn't been much sleep for the past few nights on the trawler and the constant fear of being attacked by the Spanish fishermen had also taken its toll. Somehow he managed to stay awake for the time it took the driver to reach Dundee. He was dropped off on the Kingsway road and it was a relatively short walk from there to his Dundee apartment. It had been some time since Kenny had used the apartment. He examined the obvious repairs to the doorframe as he removed the key from under the mat and opened the door. It was clear the apartment had been broken into but a quick look in each room was enough to confirm that it was empty and nothing appeared to be missing. Satisfied that there was no immediate problem, Kenny collapsed onto the bed and fell into an exhausted sleep. ------- Mark and Flick waited in the same tearoom at the Burrell museum where Jason Welsh had attacked them. They had set up a meeting with DI MacIntosh after several more days of fruitlessly following Luke MacNab. Mark's contacts in the financial world had also failed to turn up anything unusual about the accountant so they had decided it was time to share Kenny MacGovern's suspicions with Drew. They spotted the detective and waved him over to their table. Drew dropped into a seat and smiled wearily at them both. "You look tired," suggested Mark. "I don't know what it is about tourist flights - they always seem to be scheduled for ungodly hours of the night. I flew out of Malaga at 3am this morning and to be honest, I'm knackered." "I didn't realise you were allowed to take holidays. My god, pay and holidays - that policing lark sounds like a right cushy number," Flick laughed. "I don't suppose it's a co-incidence that you've been in Malaga and Kenny MacGovern happens to be in Spain?" Mark added. Drew's expression changed and he was suddenly focused. "How did you know MacGovern was in Spain?" he demanded to know. "He's been sending me e-mails," Mark replied. "What? Why is he contacting you?" "At first I think it was just to try to apologise for the fact the Hamiltons were ordered to kill me but I think he's also hoping I can help clear his name. He's asked me to do some investigating for him." "Why haven't you shared this with me before now?" Drew barked. Mark took a chance on a little white lie. "You've just told us you've been away in Spain, we couldn't get hold of you. Anyway, what's a few days going to matter. I'll tell you what - you share the detail of what you've been up to in Spain and we'll tell you who MacGovern has fingered as the mastermind behind all of this," Mark offered. "You'll fucking tell me who he's named right now! Stop pissing me about - otherwise I'll arrest you for obstruction!" Drew threatened. "Drew, all we want is to be kept in the loop. We want to know what's going on, stop shutting us out," Mark snapped back. "You know the drill, you'll get all the details after the case is finished. That's the way it's got to work. Now, the name!" Mark glanced at Flick as if to say 'I told you so'. He had told her that the detective would keep information from them until after he had his convictions. He didn't like it, but knew he had little choice. "Okay. MacGovern has told us that he has been under the control of his long-time friend - a guy called Luke MacNab. MacNab is an accountant with a government agency in Dundee. Flick and I have been tailing him for the past three or four days but he hasn't done anything unusual." "Where will I find him?" Drew asked. Mark gave the detective details of both Luke's home address and the address of the office where he worked. Once Drew had that information it was clear that he wanted to cut their meeting short so he could follow up this new lead. ------- When the computer didn't respond, MacNab had a good idea of what was wrong. Kenny had clearly hacked into it and somehow uploaded a virus. It was a slow and laborious process to re-format the hard disk and then re-install everything back to the factory settings. Once that was done it was a simple matter to restore everything else from the back-up tape. Checking e-mail was the next priority. MacNab's account was not held on the PC so nothing had been lost from it, but still there was no message from Wilson Bankier. In the absence of a call or an e-mail, it was probably safe to assume that something had happened to the good doctor and that Kenny was still at large. The controller's frustration was mounting. Nothing seemed to have gone right over the past week or so. Ever since Kenny had somehow realised that he was being controlled and had broken free, the teacher had somehow managed to keep one step ahead. MacNab didn't like losing and getting back in control of the offshore bank account was close to becoming an outright obsession. Having access to all of that money was essential. It had taken years of manipulating the teacher to generate so much cash - it didn't belong to MacGovern and he couldn't be allowed to have it. ------- Kenny made himself a cup of coffee. There was no fresh milk in the apartment so he had to go without but that was okay. He stood at the window looking out at the streets below, thinking about what his next move would be. When he had gone over things on the beach he had decided his best course was to return to Scotland and take the fight to Luke. The first thing he had done after waking was to check his e-mail to see whether the journalist had found out anything useful about his old friend. There was no message from Mark MacGhee and Kenny assumed that meant there was nothing to report. As he sipped his coffee he decided that it was time to look up his old friend. He would confront him and get him to confess everything he had done. While not the most subtle or sophisticated plan, taking direct action against the person who had made him do so many despicable things was becoming so irresistible as to completely cloud his ability to think straight. Kenny finished the coffee and grabbed an old jacket from a hook beside the door. He left the apartment, pulling the door closed behind himself and almost skipped down the stairs. He was going to take his controller on face to face. The prospect was somehow uplifting! Luke's house was twenty minutes away on foot but the walk seemed to pass in a flash, as Kenny was flushed with excitement and adrenaline at what he planned to do. The street was very familiar to him, as he had visited his old friend frequently. He turned into to it without a pause; his gaze fixed on the fourth house on the right-hand side, his stride purposeful. Reaching the garden gate, Kenny thumbed the latch and pushed it open. He took one stride up the path and then felt his right arm being wrenched painfully backwards. The arm was twisted and bent until it was in the middle of his back and being thrust painfully upwards. His body was slammed from behind and he fell heavily to the ground, screaming as it felt as of the arm had been torn from its socket. Kenny felt something slipping over his wrist and then a knee stabbed into the small of his back, knocking the remaining air out of his lungs. His left arm was now grabbed and it was forced backward also until he felt something at that wrist and heard a click. "Kenny MacGovern, I am arresting you on suspicion of commissioning murder. You do not have to say anything but it may harm your defence if you do not mention when questioned something which you later rely on in court. Anything you do say may be given in evidence. Do you understand?" Kenny felt himself being rolled over and he looked up to see the Glasgow detective he had last seen in Torremuelle. His heart sank. From the extreme high generated by his decision to confront his controller, he quickly sunk to the extreme low of being re-arrested right on Luke's doorstep. ------- Chapter 21 Drew couldn't believe his good fortune. He had driven to the Dundee address Mark MacGhee had given him, intent on taking a 'look see' at Luke MacNab at the first opportunity. The drive from Glasgow had taken just over an hour in reasonably light traffic. He had parked up approximately twenty-five metres from MacNab's house and settled down to wait for the accountant to put in an appearance. When Kenny MacGovern rounded the corner and marched past his car, it took several moments for his brain to process what he was seeing. He firstly questioned what he saw but then quickly accepted his good fortune and acted. "Fuck! Is that the teacher? It is, it is him. Oh you fucking beauty, come to daddy!" ran through his head and then he was out of the car and closing the distance between himself and his target. When Kenny opened the garden gate leading to Luke MacNab's house, Drew struck and took only a few seconds to handcuff the teacher and read him his rights. Drew couldn't be positive but he thought he detected curtains twitching in one of the upstairs windows of the MacNab residence. He shrugged off the sense that someone was watching him and concentrated on getting Kenny MacGovern back on his feet and into the back seat of his car. Thereafter he made directly for Glasgow and the Stewart Street police station. The teacher was booked, searched and processed quickly before being led to a holding cell. Drew intended to let him stew for a few hours before questioning him and hopefully bringing a number of additional charges against him. ------- MacNab was stunned. Kenny MacGovern had just been arrested outside the house! The scene had all unfolded outside the window - in full view. Kenny had come marching down the street like a man with a mission. He had opened the gate but before he could walk down the garden path, a burly man had wrestled him to the ground and twisted his arm painfully up his back. Handcuffs had been snapped round the teacher's wrists and then he had been bundled into the back of a car. MacNab had seen the burly assailant glance up at the window once, but was pretty sure nothing could be seen through the curtains. Kenny's arrest had come completely out of the blue. The last information had placed him in a villa on the Costa Del Sol only a few days ago. What was he doing here? The fact he was now in police custody was also potentially a big problem - Kenny was the only one who knew how to access the offshore account. MacNab needed that information. Spinning round to face the computer, MacNab began searching through the database for any of the remaining former pupils that might be helpful. ------- Kenny didn't trust anyone. For all he knew, Luke could have used the brain defragmenter programme on anybody. For that reason, his paranoia led to him refusing as solicitor and a decision that her would defend himself. He refused to break under the relentless questioning that Drew subjected him to. He quickly realised that the detective must have found his notebook, as the detail he was aware of could only have come from that. He admitted to himself that MacIntosh was skilled in his interrogation, but he wasn't a match intellectually for Kenny's own brain capacity. He stuck rigidly to his previous story - that his notebook contained ideas for a novel that he wanted to write. This time it was clear that the police had somehow managed to get some of the girls to make a statement against him so he knew he wasn't going to get off scot-free. "Look, Kim Park has given us a detailed statement of the sick things you made her do, MacGovern. I've got you bang to rights for that. I know all the names of those you used to set up the Church and the people you used to launder the money from the Hamiltons. "It's only a matter of time until I get some of these people to crack and grass you up. By my reckoning there are three solicitors and six accountants involved in that alone. What odds will you give me that I can get at least two or three of them to sing?" Kenny was reasonably certain that his brain programme would stop all of those involved from ever giving the police information. However, his confidence had been shaken by the fact that Kim Park and other girls had somehow ignored their programming and given statements. The detail the detective had could only have come from the girls. That could only mean that Luke had ordered the girls to tell the police about him. If MacNab had done that, it was a fair bet that he had instructed some of the others to do likewise. The detail that MacIntosh kept returning to was that dealing with the Hamiltons being ordered to kill Mark MacGhee and Jason Welsh also being ordered to take out the journalist. Kenny guessed that these were the crimes that the detective was most anxious to make stick. Two counts of commissioning murder would indeed be serious, but Kenny held out hope that these were the areas where the police had the least information. He had a sense that that was the reason the detective kept returning to them again and again - he was desperate for Kenny to crack and give him something to work with. "Admit it, MacGovern. The journalist was getting too close to exposing what you were up to and you panicked. You panicked and ordered the Hamiltons to shut him up before he could reveal the extent of your schemes! And when the Hamiltons failed in their attempts, you ordered Jason Welsh to have a go as well. It's all written down in your notebook, in your own handwriting man. You can't deny it!" Kenny knew that there was no reference to Jason Welsh in his notebook. The detective had slipped up in that respect. That tiny slip gave him renewed hope. MacIntosh was fishing, he didn't have enough to go on and he was desperate for Kenny to break. That knowledge helped stiffen his resolve and he continued to repeat his answers. "I didn't order anyone to harm Mr MacGhee. I did not ask the Hamiltons or this Jason Welsh to do anything, certainly not to murder someone. The details in my notebook are all about my idea for a novel." His growing sense of relief and renewed hope was suddenly punctured. Like the experienced interrogator that he was, Drew had let the suspect build up a false sense of security and then he moved dramatically to rip it away. "How do you explain this then?" he asked, putting a single sheet of A4 paper in front of Kenny. Kenny blanched as he quickly skimmed the words on the page. Somehow the detective had managed to get hold of his first e-mail to Mark MacGhee. "This is an e-mail from you to the journalist. Your own words condemn you man! You clearly refer to the fact that Mr MacGhee is now safe and you apologise for what you've done. How could you use those words if you weren't in control of the contract that was put out on Mr MacGhee? Come on, admit it MacGovern. You ordered Mark MacGhee's death!" Drew could see the teacher's shoulder slump, as he realised the mistake he had made. "Look, MacGovern. I've got more than enough to make these charges stick. If you think for one minute that a judge and jury are going to believe your cock and bull stories about writing novels or being subjected to mind control you're off your rocker! You might as well admit your guilt and confess - if you cooperate then that will sit well with the judge and it might mean a lighter sentence." Despite the fact that the detective had shattered his confidence, Kenny fell back on his only line of defence and continued to weakly deny all of the allegations. "Sergeant? Have him formally charged," Drew said and left the interview room. ------- The next few days were a nightmare for Kenny. He continued to refuse to accept a solicitor, deciding to represent himself in court too. He almost changed his mind when he realised the extent of the charges against him. He was charged with two counts of commissioning murder, a list of offences to do with money laundering, of conspiring with a police officer to pervert the course of justice and finally with a range of sex crimes involving the young girls. He was hastily taken before a court where a grim-faced judge ordered that he be remanded in custody until a trial date was set. Kenny sat with his head bowed as the charges against him were read out and could only mumble his plea of 'not guilty' to each one. Two guards from a private security firm hustled him down through the courthouse and into the back of a waiting armoured van. Kenny was manhandled into the back of the van and his handcuffed wrists were secured to a metal rail to ensure he couldn't escape. There were four other prisoners in the van and Kenny avoided making any kind of eye contact with them. The van made the short journey from the court to Glasgow's notorious Barlinnie Prison. Once inside the prison walls, the van pulled up in a courtyard and Kenny and the other prisoners were released and pushed outside. More security guards were on hand to control the prisoners and direct them towards a strong metal door. He found himself being processed once more. His clothing was removed and he was subjected to a full body search. Kenny felt his spirits sinking lower and lower with each step he took along the criminal justice process. It was almost as if the whole approach was designed to break people, to remove any shred of dignity or self-respect that they had left. The guards in particular seemed to take great delight in verbally abusing the prisoners and were clearly aware of the charges that each of them faced. "Hey, look guys! We've got another kiddy abuser! It's always great to see what the other inmates dish out to sick bastards like you. Give it a couple of days and you won't be able to walk, you little shit! Mr Big and all his horny gang members are going to pound your arse so badly, you'll need to wear nappies for the rest of your life! Ha, ha, ha!" There was much laughter amongst the guards, as they imagined and described what was going to happen to Kenny once the hardened criminals got their hands on him. Kenny felt his body begin to tremble, as he to began to see mental images of what might be in store for him. He was bundled into a communal shower area and subjected to harsh jets of ice-cold water before being directed to dry himself with a towel that felt as if it was made of sandpaper. Rough prison clothing was thrown at him and a guard screamed at him to hurry up and cover up his scrawny excuse for a body. Then he was escorted through several locked doors and into the prison proper. The noise and the smell were the first things to hit him. People were screaming and shouting all through the cavernous prison hall. It rose three stories and the acoustics only served to increase the noise levels. The voices were aggressive and abusive and the whole environment was completely alien and terrifying to him. The place stank of shit, piss, sweat and fear. The other prisoners were frightening. They leered at him and seemed to exude violence just in the way they stood or looked at him. He was scrutinised by the other inmates at every step he took and it was something of a relief when his guard reached the cell he was clearly going to be occupying. Kenny glanced around quickly and realised he would be sharing a cell with another prisoner. The other man was laid out on the top bunk of a pair and he sat up when Kenny and the guard entered. "I've got a little playmate for you, Benson. Make sure you don't break him now, okay?" the guard laughed. Kenny put the blanket he was carrying down onto the lower bunk and stood nervously in the middle of the cell. He could see that several other prisoners had followed along behind him and they were now hanging around outside, clearly waiting for the guard to leave so they could investigate the new arrival. He was sure that the guard was getting a perverse pleasure out of Kenny's obvious discomfort but he knew that the man was the only thing standing between himself and these violent criminals. As soon as the guard left, he would be on his own with some of the toughest, most vicious, low-life scum in Glasgow. He had never been put in such a hostile environment in his life and his fear threatened to completely overwhelm him. Kenny only just managed to stop himself from begging the guard not to leave him with these people. His common sense told him that it was going to happen, no matter what he said to the guard, he would be left to get on with things. He instinctively knew that if he showed weakness in front of the other prisoners, then whatever he was going to face would only get worse. Somehow, from somewhere deep inside himself, he managed to keep his mouth shut and simply watched as the guard gave him one last grin and then left. The taunting and verbal abuse of the other guards was still fresh in his mind and Kenny realised that he had to try to keep the details of the sex charges he faced quiet. If what the guards said was true, the other inmates would definitely come down hard on him as a child abuser. His only hope, he thought, was to try to come across as somehow dangerous in his own right. His cellmate swung his legs off of the top bunk and jumped lightly down onto the floor of the cell. Two other prisoners pushed their way into the cell too and all of them began to question him. Kenny didn't realise it, but the interminable boredom of having nothing to do day after day meant that anything out of the ordinary was a big deal to these men. A new prisoner arriving was a big event and broke the monotony of the day for a short time. "What's your name? What are you in for? Where are you frae? Got any smokes?" All of these questions were fired at him simultaneously. Kenny tried to tough it out. "For fuck's sake! One at a time, one at a time. My name's Kenny. I've been charged with two counts of commissioning murder and with money laundering," he replied eventually. "Who did you want killed? Who did the hits? How much money?" Again the questions were all fired at him at the same time. He decided that it might not be a bad thing to be associated with the Hamilton brothers but was also smart enough to know that anything he said in here was probably going to be reported back to the guards. He chose his words carefully. He wanted to try to gain some security while at the same time avoid damning himself. "The police claim I asked the Hamilton brothers to take a journalist out and also that I was laundering their drug money for them," he said. The reference to the Hamilton brothers clearly had some currency with the prisoners. The brothers were well-known in Glasgow's criminal circles and were a force to be reckoned with. Kenny saw some lessening in the aggression that was being displayed towards him and felt some relief that his approach seemed to be working. He found himself subjected to questioning for another hour, with new faces appearing in the cell on a regular basis. At last the novelty of having a new face must have worn off and the steady stream of visitors stopped. Kenny was exhausted and still terrified. He curled up on the bottom bunk and pulled the rough blanket he had been given over himself. Benson, his cellmate nudged him with his boot an hour or so later. "If you want to eat, you'd better move yourself," he said. Kenny reacted automatically to the words and rose to follow his cellmate out of the cell and down the barred walkway. They descended several flights of steps and made their way into the 'mess hall'. Again Kenny was almost physically struck by the noise levels. Everybody seemed to be talking at the same time and at the top of their voices. The atmosphere of the place was raw and threatening. He could see the guards were constantly alert and on edge, almost as if they themselves were scared that something was going to kick-off at any moment. He joined the line that was shuffling along to receive whatever it was that was being passed off as food. Each of them had a plastic tray with several sections to it and the men behind the counter ladled clumps of non-descript 'gloop' into each section. Kenny followed his cellmate to a table and sat down, conscious that he was still being stared at and assessed by everyone he passed. Once seated, he looked at the mess on his tray and found that he had no appetite. Benson quickly noticed that he wasn't eating and moved to take advantage before someone else beat him to it. "Don't you want that?" he asked. When Kenny shook his head, the other man pulled his tray away from him and began to stuff Kenny's 'gloop' into his mouth. It wasn't long before they were finished. "I can show you around if you want? There isn't much to see - there's a TV room and a table tennis table - apart from that you have to make your own entertainment - usually where the guards can't see you ha, ha!" Kenny was nervously scanning his surroundings at all times - in particular he was marking out where each guard was stationed and he tried to remain in sight of at least one of them at all times. He thought it might be safer to simply return to his cell and said so to Benson. It was a sleepless night for Kenny. Even after things were locked-down the noise didn't stop immediately and he could hear all kinds of cursing and swearing as the inmates shouted to each other. Eventually it began to wind down and he could hear himself think. "I can get through this, I know I can get through this. It's not as if I'm the first innocent man to be locked up. Hopefully it's only for a few days. I know I can cope with this." He kept repeating the same words over and over to himself, trying to convince himself that he would be okay. The clanging of cell doors rudely awoke him the next morning. He couldn't remember falling asleep but knew that he couldn't have managed more than a few hours. His eyes felt gritty and his body stiff from the thin mattress on the bunk. "Slop out," his cellmate said. Kenny wasn't sure what that meant and he sat up to see what Benson did next. There was a commode type thing in the cell and Benson raised the seat lid and lifted a plastic 'potty' out from inside it. Kenny realised that this was what passed for sanitation in the cellblock. If he needed to go to the toilet during the time the cell was locked-down, then he would have to do so in the full view of his cellmate. That realisation stripped another vestige of dignity away. Somehow he managed to get through what passed for breakfast and also an hour spent in the exercise yard. Benson remained by his side and kept up a running commentary on points of interest. He explained the various groups of inmates - the gangs that tried to run everything that happened in the prison. "It won't be long before they approach you and force you to join one of the gangs. It's the best way of making sure you've got some security. If you don't belong to one of the gangs then you're going to be fair game for all of them." "What do you mean - 'fair game'?" Kenny asked. "They'll take everything you've got. They'll even shag your arse or get you to blow them," Benson replied in a matter of fact voice. Kenny was shocked and terrified all over again. "You're lucky, you don't smoke. You'll be able to buy your quota of tobacco and use that to pay them off. One of the biggest gangs is also made up of cons with connections to the Hamilton's clan. You might be able to get protection from them. "The worst thing to look out for is if they decide that you might be worth something to them on the outside," said Benson. "What do you mean?" asked Kenny. "If you're only going to be inside for a short period then sometimes they see you as an opportunity. If they can hold you down and force heroin into you, they can make you into an addict in a few weeks. That way, by the time you get out you'll be hooked and constantly in need of a fix. They'll tell you where to find their dealers before you leave and you'll have no option but to go to them to buy heroin to feed your habit. It's a way of making sure they increase sales. They've got you for life then," Benson informed him. Kenny struggled to get his round that. Innocent people could come here for a few weeks while they waited for an appearance in court - hopefully to then be found not guilty. But, in the time they were waiting to be cleared they could be forcibly turned into a junky? This was a side of life he didn't know existed and it was beyond frightening. He found himself praying inside, praying that he wouldn't be one of the ones who was held down, held down while a syringe was used to inject him with heroin and his life was ruined forever. He got through the morning and returned to his cell with Benson. They hadn't been there long when four hard looking prisoners entered the cell. "You! Out, now!" said the apparent leader. Benson glanced at the four of them and clearly decided that it would be a good idea to do as they asked. He scuttled past them and out of the door. One of the newcomers pushed the cell door closed and leaned up against it. The leader moved menacingly towards Kenny. He guessed that Benson was right and one of the gangs was making an approach. "I've been asked to extract some information from you," the man snarled. "We can do this the hard way or the very hard way." Without any further warning, his right fist flashed and Kenny felt his entire face explode with pain. He collapsed in a heap on the cell floor, screaming at the agony he felt. A boot thudded into his ribs and his screams rose in volume and intensity. Kenny felt a hand grab the front of his shirt and he was pulled upright. He struggled to see through the tears that were streaming form his eyes but could vaguely make out the thug's face close to his own. "The fucking bank account! I want details of the access codes and password for the fucking bank account! Tell me, tell me or I'll rip your fucking head off!" the thug screamed at him. Even in the situation he was in, Kenny was shocked at the demands. Somehow Luke had managed to reach inside Barlinnie Prison to get someone to try to force the details of the offshore account out of him. He knew that those details might be the only thing that kept him alive and that he had to resist giving them up at all costs. "You're crazy. I don't have a clue what you're on about," he managed to wheeze out through the pain. The words were hardly out of his mouth before the next round of blows started. He was vaguely aware of the leader screaming at his accomplices. "DON'T FUCKING KILL THE BASTARD! I NEED HIM ALIVE, DON'T FUCKING KILL HIM!" The last thing he remembered before he blacked out was the sound of running feet and the wail of a siren. Unconsciousness was a blessing. ------- Mark and Flick waited in the visitor's area; a guard was leaning against the wall behind them. Mark had tried to arrange a visit to Kenny MacGovern the day before but he had been informed that it wasn't possible. A phone call to DI MacIntosh resulted in the explanation that the teacher had apparently been attacked on his first day in prison and was in the infirmary, badly beaten up. "The report I've got says concussion and two cracked ribs," Drew had told Mark on the phone. MacGovern's condition couldn't be that bad because Mark's request for a visit the following day had been granted. Now they both sat waiting for the teacher to be brought in. There was a Perspex screen in front of them dividing the room in two. While they watched, a guard helped Kenny MacGovern into the room on the other side of the screen. The teacher was clearly in a lot of pain and was hunched over, probably to try to relieve the pain in his ribs. Mark knew how that felt from his own recent experience. Kenny looked up as he sank into the chair on the other side of the Perspex. Flick gasped when she saw the mess that had been made of the teacher's face. Dark bruising covered most of the skin, both eyes were puffy with swelling and his nose was also clearly broken. She wondered if he would be able to talk but that was cleared up quickly when he snapped at them both. "What the fuck do you want?" Mark and Flick were taken aback, both by his appearance and by the depth of hatred in his question. "Err, we wanted to see how you were doing. If you remember, you were the one who tried to have us killed and who came to us for help in trying to clear your name," Mark replied at last. His words seemed to get through to the teacher and some of the heat left his stare. "What happened to you?" Flick asked. "Luke MacNab happened to me! Luke MacNab managed to reach out even in here. It seems that I've got something that Luke wants and he's determined to get it any way he can." "What is it he wants?" Flick asked. "Do I look completely stupid?!" Kenny snapped back in answer. "Listen, we've followed MacNab and he hasn't done anything that could be counted as out of the ordinary. I think you're wrong about him. More importantly, the police think you're wrong about him. DI MacIntosh is convinced you're making all this up," said Mark. "Does this look as if I'm making it up?" Kenny demanded. "People get beaten up in prison every day - it happens. That doesn't mean that someone is out to get you. You'll need more than that to convince the police that MacNab is somehow behind this." "You know what it feels like when someone's trying to kill you, don't you?" asked Kenny. "Well, I know this is real. The guy with the knife in Spain was real as well and Macintosh saw that for himself. It suits him to leave me here 'cause he thinks I'll crack." "What happened in Spain? What did Drew witness?" Flick asked. "Some nutter with a knife tried to kill me. MacIntosh arrived while it was happening and I managed to escape." Mark shared a look with Flick. This was something that Drew hadn't shared them. "Look, we'll talk to Drew and try to convince him you're telling the truth, but I think you'll have to give him something more," said Mark. Kenny considered that for a moment, considered the hell that awaited him back inside the main part of the prison. He came to a decision. "Tell MacIntosh that I'll tell him where the money is and provide evidence that MacNab has been running this whole nightmare for years. Tell him he needs to get me out of here pronto! I'm not sure I'm even safe here in the infirmary. If I'm here a day longer, Luke's people will get me. I know it!" Mark and Flick could se the terror in Kenny's eyes. Both believed that there was no way that could be put on. The man in front of them was scared out of his wits. "We'll see what we can do, I think I can get to Drew this afternoon," said Mark. ------- Chapter 22 Mark was very surprised at how easy it was to convince Drew to intervene to protect Kenny. He had expected to have a battle on his hands but the detective agreed that it would be better all round if the teacher was moved to a lower security prison. He immediately set things in motion to get Kenny transferred to Low Moss Prison on the outskirts of Glasgow. Low Moss had started life as a wartime RAF base where barrage balloons had been stationed to protect Glasgow from German bombers. The accommodation comprised eleven wooden Nissen huts, single storey affairs, linked by narrow corridors. Instead of individual cells, the huts were set out as communal dormitories and if truth be told, the whole site was badly in need of refurbishment. It was only a short journey of around five miles from Barlinnie Prison to Low Moss for Kenny and he felt the tension in his battered and bruised body begin to ease when he took in his new surroundings. Low Moss was home to about three hundred prisoners - most of them petty criminals serving time for repeat offences such as burglary or car crime. While still rough, they were nowhere near as dangerous as the inmates at Barlinnie. The regime at Low Moss was also much less strict and that in turn was reflected in the more relaxed attitude of its inmates. Kenny was left pretty much on his own although he did receive curious stares given the battered nature of his face. It wasn't long before Drew visited to get the details of the Church's bank account that Kenny had promised. The teacher used the computer in the Prison's library to access the offshore account and let the detective see just how much money was involved. He also showed Drew the database of former pupils and tried to convince him once more that the evil things that he had done had been ordered by Luke MacNab. Drew wasn't aware of it, but as an extra insurance Kenny also showed the detective the latest copy of the brain defragmenter programme. The new trigger phrase was 'the bluebells are blue'. Kenny knew he would need to allow Drew to sleep before the programme would be effective and he hoped desperately that he wouldn't ever have to use it. Ten days later was Kenny's next appearance in court. The most serious crimes in Scotland are tried by the High Court (of the judiciary) and Kenny's case was being heard in the High Court building on Glasgow's Saltmarket, overlooking the River Clyde. The judge was Lord Justice General Tom Bradford, Lord Commissioner and once more Kenny had refused all attempts to appoint him representation. Cases in the High Court are normally prosecuted and defended by advocates or advocate-deputes rather than mere solicitors and the judge lectured Kenny on the importance of having representation. One look at the prosecuting advocate on the first day of the trial convinced Kenny that he had made the correct decision to defend himself. He recognised the man as one of his former pupils, despite the little wig and the flowing gown he wore. Of course, Kenny couldn't tell whether the man was under Luke's control or not but he set himself the task of trying to find out as quickly as possible. The second shock for Kenny was the sight of Luke MacNab himself sitting in the public gallery. He met his old friend's look but there was no warmth between them as there had once been and he turned away quickly before he lost control. "All rise for his lordship, Lord Justice General Bradford," called out the court's clerk. Immediately everyone in the courtroom rose to their feet as the robed judge 'flowed' into the room and took his seat behind the bench. The judge looked round the courtroom to make sure everything was just as it should be. His gaze lingered on the jury and then moved to fix on Kenny. "Please be seated," said Judge Bradford. "Mr MacGovern are you still determined to continue with this farce and attempt to represent yourself?" "I am m'lord," Kenny replied, trying to remain calm under the intense scrutiny from the judge. "This is a very serious matter and one where you perhaps need all the help a trained advocate would be able to provide. The consequences for you should you be found guilty of the charges levelled against you are considerable. It is almost without precedent for someone to appear in my court and attempt to defend themselves. But, I see that you are determined to proceed on this basis. So be it," said the judge. The prosecuting advocate was called MacMillan and he had the honour of presenting his opening address to the jury first. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, this is a straightforward case of greed and the lust for money corrupting a person in a position of trust. "I will show you that the accused - Kenneth MacGovern - has systematically used his position as a teacher and headteacher to firstly abuse the children under his care but to then go on and exploit them in the pursuit of financial gain. "You will see how Mr MacGovern immersed himself in Glasgow's criminal underworld, how he laundered vast sums of money that were the proceeds of the drugs trade and how he callously ordered the death of a man who looked poised to expose his despicable deeds. "You will hear testimony from some of the people involved in each of Mr MacGovern's depraved and illegal activities - from the young girls he abused and from the men who helped him amass the fortune in dirty money that paid for the lavish lifestyle he adopted. Most damning of all however, you will see all the details of what Mr MacGovern has been responsible for over a ten year period written down in his own hand! Yes, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you will see the accused's written confession and bear witness to the depth that he has sunk. "It will not be my intention to gild the lily in this case. I'm afraid that I will set out every gut wrenching detail of what this man has done. This man who, as a teacher, has been entrusted with the care and education of our young people, this man who has systematically raped girls as young as twelve and thirteen and filmed them so that he could charge others to see them on the Internet. "No, ladies and gentlemen, I will not spare you at all I'm afraid. I will set out the evidence of multiple counts of rape and of the laundering of millions of pounds. I will also bring forward evidence that Mr MacGovern ordered the death of a respected Glasgow journalist, not once but twice! "My presentation will be relatively short but nonetheless compelling. I am supremely confident that you will be left in no doubt that this man is guilty on all counts. I trust in you to do your duty to return such verdicts on all of the charges. Thank you." The advocate had been pacing to and fro in front of the jury, punctuating his words with dramatic gestures and pointing fingers at the appropriate points. He finished with a flourish and walked back to the table where the remainder of his prosecuting team was seated. Kenny observed the members of the jury and how they reacted to the advocate's words. He had spent many years as a teacher and so was no stranger to standing up and speaking to a room full of people. This was different however. The twelve men and women in the jury box would decide whether he was sent to prison or not so there was much more at stake here than teaching a room full of kids. "Mr MacGovern? Are you going to favour us with any opening remarks?" the judge asked. Kenny nodded and rose to his feet. "Ladies and gentlemen, you have already heard the judge lecture me on the importance of having proper representation in this case. I'm not a trained advocate and indeed know little of the law. What I do know is that I am an innocent man and it is my hope that I can prove that to you. "Mr MacMillan has referred to despicable acts - to the rape and exploitation of young girls and to the commissioning of Mark MacGhee's death. I agree that child abuse, money laundering and murder are without doubt awful crimes and they make me feel as sick as they no doubt make you. I aim to prove to you that I am not responsible for any such despicable acts although perhaps others in this courtroom are!." Kenny's eyes flicked towards the public gallery as he said these words and he met Luke's gaze once more. "I am innocent of conceiving it possible to rape one of my pupils and certainly not of murdering a fellow human being in cold blood. All that I ask is that you keep an open mind and judge me honestly. Thank you." Kenny hadn't moved away from his table and now he simply sat down again, making eye contact with each member of the jury in turn. The judge looked down at his notes and then called on the prosecuting advocate to call his first witness. "Mr MacMillan, please call your first witness." "Thank you, m'lord. I call Detective Inspector Andrew MacIntosh." The clerk repeated Drew's name and a door to one side opened to admit the detective. He walked to the witness box and stood to take the oath before turning his attention to the advocate. "Detective, you are the officer responsible for leading the investigation into the accused's activities, is that right?" "That's correct," Drew answered. "I'm not going to take you into the details of your investigation at this point - I'll save that for later - but I am interested in one particular piece of evidence. I believe there exists a notebook with details of actions going back over the past ten years. This notebook first came to the attention of the police following a search of the Cambo House Estate I believe, is that correct?" "That's correct," Drew answered once again. "And this notebook came into your possession when you entered a villa in the Spanish resort of Torremuelle, a villa rented by Mr MacGovern is that correct?" "That's correct," said Drew. "M'lord, I'd like to enter this notebook into evidence if it pleases you?" enquired the advocate. The judge nodded and the advocate picked up a plastic bag containing Kenny's notebook and placed it on the table immediately in front of the judge's bench. "Now, detective. I believe that the accused, Mr MacGovern, has identified this notebook as his own and confirmed that the handwriting contained on its pages is his handwriting. Is that correct?" "That's correct," said Drew. "You've studied this notebook in some detail, haven't you detective MacIntosh?" "I have, yes." "Does the notebook mention a girl called Kim Park?" "It does, yes." "Is Kim Park a real person?" "Yes, she is a real person. Miss Park made herself known to the police on the sixteenth of last month. She is a former pupil of the accused." The advocate interrupted before Drew could say any more. "And does this notebook contain any details relating to a relationship between Mr MacGovern and Miss Park?" "Yes it does. There are a number of entries that make it clear that Mr MacGovern had intercourse with Miss Park and also that he recorded her masturbating for him too," Drew replied. "Does the notebook enlighten us as to when these liaisons took place?" the advocate enquired. "It does, yes." Drew referred to his own notebook to check the dates. "The first such 'liaison' happened on 28 August 2002." "What age would that have made Miss Park, detective?" "She would have been twelve years of age," Drew answered. There was a surge of noise in the courtroom at this revelation and several shouts of 'PERVERT' and 'PEDO' came from the public gallery. The judge banged his gavel and warned everyone to remain silent during the trial. Once order was restored the advocate continued. He proceeded to work his way through the entries in Kenny's book - laying out for the jury each individual thing that Kenny had done. Drew's appearance was interrupted for lunch and a further break in the afternoon and by the end of the first day they had still not managed to get through the entire contents of the notebook. The judge recessed the court and informed everyone that they would recommence at ten o'clock the next morning. Kenny was returned to Low Moss Prison and he asked for permission to use the computer in the library once more. One of the benefits of representing himself was that Kenny had been able to request access to the Prison's library and to the Internet in order to research the finer points of law that might help his defence. While the Prison governor thought that he was able to control what Kenny was accessing, he underestimated the skill that this particular inmate had and Kenny was able to do pretty much whatever he wanted. He had already changed all the access details to the offshore account once more so that DI MacIntosh couldn't do anything with it. Today's trial had pinpointed a number of people mentioned in his notebook and Kenny was guessing that these were the people that the prosecution was going to call to testify against him. Kim Park had been covered in some detail, as had two accountants who had laundered money and one solicitor who had helped establish the Church of Cyberscience as a charity. The likelihood was that these were people who Luke still had control of and that he had ordered them to cooperate with the police. Kenny hadn't had an opportunity yet to test whether the advocate was also under Luke's control, but he thought he might be able to do something to de-rail the prosecution's case. It didn't take him long to connect to a remote server (actually somewhere in the Ukraine) and call up a copy of his database of former pupils. He found the e-mail addresses for Kim Park, the accountants and the solicitor. Next he called up a copy of the programme he had written and embedded into a simple web-site. He had used this to make it possible for his people to control the young girls amongst their friends and families so they could film material for the sugar & spice web-site. Now he quickly amended the programme and sent an e-mail with a link to the website to each of the people he thought the prosecution was going to call. He could only hope that each of them would look at their e-mail and access the website so that the programme had a chance to overwrite Luke's control of them. Kenny chose a completely new trigger phrase. He needed something that no one else would say, but it also needed to be something that wouldn't sound out of place when he used it. The phrase he settled for was 'I'm not wearing a wig, but I'm still allowed to ask questions'. Kenny sent the e-mails and moved the cursor to close the computer. Just before doing so, another idea sprang to mind and he acted on it, sending another e-mail before shutting the PC down with a smile on his face. ------- The second day in the courtroom was much the same as the first, with the advocate taking Drew MacIntosh through what Kenny's notebook revealed about his actions over the past ten years. At last, Mr MacMillan turned to questions about Drew's investigations. He confirmed details of Kenny's escape to Spain and subsequent arrest in Dundee. He also covered Kenny's meeting with Drew and the details of the offshore account. "So detective, what you're saying is that the accused fled the country to avoid arrest?" "I believe that to be the case, yes," Drew replied. "And has it been established how Mr MacGovern re-entered the country? I believe he had left his passport behind in Spain when he ran from the Torremuelle villa, isn't that right? So how did he re-enter the UK?" "Yes, I did recover his passport from the villa. I have not as yet identified how he managed to re-enter the UK without it though," answered Drew. "Is it fair to assume that his re-entry must have been illegal - given the fact that he didn't have his passport?" "Yes, that would have to be the case." "So, we can assume that the accused has already demonstrated an ability to cross international borders without a passport?" "Yes," said Drew. "Now, detective. The details of this offshore account that you say the accused showed you. How much money was in the account?" "There was in excess of twenty million pounds in the account when I saw it. But, for some reason I can't get access to the account with the password that Mr MacGovern gave me." "Is it safe to say that the accused would appear to have access to a very large sum of money, detective?" the advocate asked. "Yes, it seems he has." "M'lord, if it pleases the court, I believe I have shown here that the accused represents a definite flight risk. If he requests bail at any stage during this trial, I would like the court to take this into account. He has demonstrated the willingness to flee and the ability to cross borders without a passport. He clearly has access to a great deal of money into the bargain." At last the advocate indicated that he had finished with Drew as a witness. "Mr MacGovern, do you wish to cross-examine?" asked Judge Bradford. Kenny stood up. "Yes, m'lord." He approached the witness box and maintained eye contact with the detective. "DI MacIntosh, is it not the case that I have in fact explained the contents of this notebook to you as being entirely innocent?" "I believe that you have made such a claim, but I don't believe there are any grounds to believe the details in the book are anything but true. Indeed, I have taken statements from people referred to in the notebook and those statements would seem to confirm the events are true," Drew responded. Kenny wasn't going to be deflected and he asked his question in a slightly different way - determined to get his version of things on the record for the court. "I believe that I indicated the contents of the notebook were actually my thoughts and outline for a novel that I wanted to write and that in fact none of the events were true. Isn't that the case?" "Yes, you did make such a claim, but..." "That will be all, detective. Thank you," said Kenny, cutting off what Drew had been going to add to his confirmation. Kenny glanced up at the public gallery as he walked back to his table. Luke MacNab was sitting there once again and today he had a girl with him. Luke's face wore a neutral expression, but Kenny's eyes blazed his anger and hatred. ------- The figure wore the uniform of the company contracted to take care of the cleaning of the court building. No one noticed the figure mop the corridor immediately outside the jury room nor did they notice when the figure slipped inside and left the Nintendo DS console on one of the tables. It stood to reason that the members of the jury would get bored and need something to pass the time. What better way to keep mentally alert than Dr Kawashima's Brain game? ------- "The prosecution calls Miss Kim Park, m'lord," said advocate MacMillan. There was a pause while everyone waited for the girl to enter the courtroom and take the witness stand. The clerk held out the bible for her to place her hand on and then had her repeat the oath to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth. "So help me god," Kim finished. "Miss Park, you were a pupil of Mr MacGovern's. Is that correct?" "Yes," she answered, nervously. The advocate smiled at her encouragingly, trying to put her at ease. "Is it also the case that he became more than your teacher?" "Yes," the answer was barely more than a whisper and she glanced across at Kenny. "Miss Park, you have given a statement to the police that makes it clear that you in fact became Mr MacGovern's lover? That you had sex with him on a number of occasions?" "Yes." "And did he also make movies of you?" "Yes." "Were these movies of a sexual nature, Miss Park?" "Yes." "Yes, indeed. Is it not the case that these movies showed you masturbating with a number of sex toys? And on several occasions did they not show you having sex with (here the advocate glanced at his notes) one Gloria Campbell, is that correct?" "Yes." "Where did all this take place, Miss Park?" "At Mr MacGovern's big house," Kim answered. "Do you mean the Cambo House Estate, Miss Park?" "Yes." "And what age were you when Mr MacGovern first had intercourse with you, Miss Park? Please, tell us what age you were when your teacher, Mr MacGovern, the man sitting over there, first had sex with you?" "Twelve," she whispered. "I'm sorry, Miss Park. I didn't quite hear that. What age were you when this man first had sex with you?" asked MacMillan, really making sure the jury wouldn't forget this bit of testimony. "I was twelve," Kim repeated. "And did you consent to all of these acts?" MacMillan asked her. "Yes." "You agreed to have sex with your teacher? You agreed to let him film you? You agreed to have sex with another girl?" "Yes," she said quietly. "Why, Miss Park? Why did you agree to all of this?" "He was my teacher," she answered. "Exactly! He was your teacher. He was a figure of authority, an adult, someone you were used to obeying!" "Yes, but he was really nice to me. I liked him," said Kim. Kenny had been finding her testimony difficult to sit through. He squirmed as the details were laid out for the jury. He was ashamed at what he had done to this girl and he was also ashamed for what he was about to do. "No further questions, m'lord," said MacMillan and he strode back to his table. "Mr MacGovern?" the judge asked. "Yes, m'lord," said Kenny, slowly getting to his feet. He walked over towards the witness box and met Kim's look. He smiled and a sharp pain struck his chest when she smiled right back at him. "I may not be wearing a wig, but I am still allowed to ask questions, Miss Park," said Kenny. There were a few titters of laughter around the courtroom at his words, but Kenny was focused on Kim's eyes and he saw the tell-tale glazed look come over them momentarily before it cleared again. "Miss Park. Kim. I was your teacher for only one year, isn't that right?" "Yes, Mr MacGovern," she answered, her voice stronger. It was clear to anyone listening and watching that Kim was much more comfortable talking to Kenny than she had been under questioning from the advocate. "Is it not the case that you developed a schoolgirl crush on me during that time?" Kenny asked. "Oh yes. You were lovely, sir. I thought I was in love with you." "Quite. Is it not the case that what you have described today and what you told the police was what you dreamed of doing with me? Is it not the case that we never actually had sex together but that you fantasised about it happening?" She paused for a second before replying. "Yes. It was all I could think about. I really wanted to be with you. You looked so gorgeous. I wanted to give myself to you." There was instant uproar in the courtroom at this answer and the judge had to bang his gavel repeatedly to restore order. "ORDER! ORDER! ORDER I SAY!" Once people had quietened, the judge told Kenny to continue. "So let's make this perfectly clear for everybody, Kim. You and I never had sex?" "No." "I didn't make any movies of you, either masturbating or having sex with another girl?" "No." "Thank you, Kim. You've been very helpful and made me happy. No further questions." Kim beamed a huge smile at Kenny and no one could be in any doubt that she still felt very strongly about her old teacher. At the prosecution table, advocate MacMillan's face had turned almost puce in colour and he was glaring at both his own team and at Drew MacIntosh who was now seated amongst the public in the gallery. It was clear that he felt he had been let down by somebody. "The prosecution would like to ask for a recess at this time, m'lord," he said, "I'm afraid our next witness has been unavoidably delayed." Given that there had been no notes passed into the courtroom, it was obvious that this was merely a ploy by MacMillan to gain a break that would allow him to speak to his team. The judge seemed happy to go along with it however, and granted the recess. ------- Chapter 23 The judge called everything to order following the recess and advocate MacMillan called the prosecution's next witness. As Kenny passed the prosecution's table he had whispered to MacMillan so only he could hear. "Mr MacMillan, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience and what it can do for you?" There had been no reaction from the advocate and Kenny tried again. "Did you know that the bluebells are blue?" The advocate looked at him strangely, clearly puzzled by what Kenny was whispering. Kenny brushed past and took the seat at his own table. The advocate hadn't responded to his original trigger phrase, or the new one he had sent out to everybody. The chances were therefore, that the man was indeed under the control of Luke MacNab. MacMillan looked over at him, still trying to work out what his words had meant. He shook his head and looked up at the judge. "M'lord, the prosecution calls Adam Sinclair." Kenny recognised Sinclair as soon as he stepped into the courtroom. He had met Adam when he had lectured at an advanced computer class in Edinburgh and he had taken that opportunity to use the brain defrag programme on the boy. The boy was now a man - a skinny, red-haired and pimply-faced man, but a man nonetheless. Sinclair was sworn in and he fidgeted in the box as the advocate walked towards him. The courtroom had settled down and everyone was now leaning forward to hear the next instalment in this case. "Mr Sinclair, could you tell us who your employers are please?" "I'm an accountant working for Standard Amicable. They're a life assurance company," Sinclair replied. "Yes indeed, Mr Sinclair. Now, can you tell us all if you know the gentleman sitting here on the left?" "Yes. I believe his name is Mr MacGovern." "And how do you know Mr MacGovern?" the advocate enquired. "I met him on a computer course I was sent on by my school." "Yes, that's very helpful, Adam. But, can you tell us about your most recent involvement with Kenneth MacGovern please?" "Oh, yes, sorry. He asked me to help him launder some money - I'd say about two million pounds over the past few years. I funnelled his cash money into the company and issued him with electronic payments from Scottish Amicable that no bank would question." "Have you heard about the Church of Cyberscience, Adam?" the advocate asked. Kenny's attention snapped towards Adam Sinclair when he heard the advocate's words - he had inadvertently spoken one of the trigger phrases. There was no reaction from the accountant however. That obviously meant that someone had changed the man's original trigger. There were a number of possibilities - either he had read the e-mail that Kenny had sent him or Luke could have changed the trigger phrase. "Yes, I have heard of that church," Sinclair answered the advocate. "How did you hear about this church?" asked MacMillan. "Mr MacGovern sent me an e-mail asking me to launder the money for him and to deposit the money into an account that belonged to the Church of Cyberscience," Sinclair answered. "And how long has this been going on, how long have you been laundering money for Mr MacGovern?" "I've been receiving the money and making the transfers for six years now," said Sinclair. "Thank you, Adam. No further questions," said advocate MacMillan. Kenny was out of his seat this time before the judge could say anything. Judge Bradford simply nodded to indicate that he should proceed with his cross-examination. Kenny walked toward the accountant. "Mr Sinclair, Adam, although I'm not wearing a wig, I'm still allowed to ask questions." There was less of a reaction in the room this time - most of them had heard his line the first time he had used it. From Kenny's point of view, that didn't trouble him, what did was the fact that Adam Sinclair didn't react to his trigger phrase either. Still, he wasn't a genius for nothing; he had to defend himself here with or without the help of mind control. "You said that you first met me on a school computer course. When was that exactly?" asked Kenny. "Ah, I don't know, maybe nine years ago?" said Sinclair. "Time does funny things to our memories, Adam. I think you'll find it was closer to twelve years ago. When was the last time you met me?" asked Kenny. "Ah, I guess twelve years ago then, because that's the only time we've met," Sinclair replied. "Oh. Didn't you say that you've been laundering money for me over the past six years, Adam?" "Yes, I have, but I haven't actually met you while I've been doing that." "I'm sorry? What do you mean? How do you know you've been laundering money for me if you haven't actually met me?" asked Kenny, letting his incredulity show in his voice. "I just knew it was you. Who else could it be?" "Who else indeed? Do you have anything concrete that you can point to that proves you were doing anything for me? That proves that I was in any way involved in the illegal activity that you were carrying out?" Sinclair hesitated and a confused look appeared on his face. It was clear that he couldn't think of a single thing that could link Kenny to what had been done. "Mr Sinclair, have you been charged with the offence of money laundering? You have testified in this court that you have been laundering money for six years now, what charges have the police brought against you?" asked Kenny, his instincts sending him on this fishing expedition. "What do you mean?" "Mr Sinclair, you have been laundering money for over six years. Surely the police have arrested you for the many crimes that you have committed over that time?" "No, why would they?" asked Sinclair naively. "Mmmm. Let's think about that. Maybe because it's highly illegal, Mr Sinclair? Has the Crown Prosecution Service given you immunity from prosecution?" "I OBJECT!" shouted advocate MacMillan, jumping to his feet. Kenny turned to look at the advocate, the scent of something in his nostrils. "That has nothing to do with this case and Mr MacGovern's question should be ruled out of order!" said MacMillan. Before Judge Bradford could respond, Kenny managed to get in his own tuppence worth. "I'm sorry, but if this man, a man who has already admitted he's a criminal, has been granted immunity from prosecution on the basis that he testifies against me, then I think that's got a bloody great deal to do with this case!" "ORDER! ORDER!" screamed Judge Bradford once more over the sudden hubbub in the courtroom after this exchange. "Mr MacGovern, I would caution you in the strongest possible terms about your behaviour and language in my courtroom! I'm ruling your question out of order, clerk strike it from the record," said the judge. Kenny was stunned. How could his question be out of order? Surely if Sinclair had an incentive to testify against him that was germane to this case? The jury had a right to know! He tried to calm himself so he could focus on how to deal with the situation. "Mr Sinclair, how can we sum this up? You've admitted to committing serious crimes over a six-year period, so you're a criminal. You have no evidence you can point to of my involvement in any criminal activity. So you expect this court, this jury, to simply rely on the word of a self-confessed criminal with no other corroboration? To be honest I'm at a loss as to why you're a witness for the prosecution. This is pathetic! First a girl who admits to her allegations being no more than fantasy and now a crook making wild accusations! The prosecution is surely wasting court time! No further questions." A second accountant was next up and Kenny listened to a similar testimony before he used his trigger phrase at the start of cross-examination and saw it work. Thereafter it only took minutes to have the man admit that he - Kenny MacGovern - was not involved in the money laundering. Kenny couldn't resist going a little further. "Were you also promised immunity in return for lying today?" he asked. Before the judge could explode, the second accountant answered. "Yes." Bedlam broke out in the courtroom again and Kenny could see by the steam coming from the judge's ears that he had badly misjudged and overstepped the mark. "Mr MacGovern, approach the bench please!" Things quietened down as Kenny walked up to the bench, as everyone strained to hear what the Judge had to say to him. "You, sir are walking on very thin ice! I'm making allowances for the fact that you have no legal training, but my patience is wearing thin son, very thin. I already warned you on the other accountant that you had gone too far - don't make this mistake again or I'm going to really lose my temper. Do you understand?" Kenny nodded and tried to look contrite. Inside he was juiced up. The prosecution so far had been pathetic and he figured he was ahead on points by a considerable margin. The crown couldn't have very much more - it was inconceivable that either of the Hamilton brothers would appear to testify, so how could they press home the commissioning murder charges other than through his own e-mail to Mark MacGhee. Kenny thought he could handle that. Advocate MacMillan did indeed introduce Kenny's e-mail next. "The prosecution calls Mark MacGhee," said MacMillan. Kenny wasn't surprised by this. He had been expecting it as a way of bringing his e-mail into play. Mark was taken through the formalities and then advocate MacMillan moved in take him through his evidence. "M'lord, I wish to introduce into evidence this e-mail which came from Mr MacGovern to Mr MacGhee." The judge nodded and the exhibit was placed on the table in front of the bench. "Mr MacGhee, this e-mail is definitely from the accused?" Mark glanced at Kenny almost guiltily before answering. "Yes, it is. Mr MacGovern has confirmed to me that he sent it." MacMillan picked the plastic bag up again and handed it to Mark. Read it for me please." Mark peered at the e-mail through the plastic and began to read: Dear Mr MacGhee, I hope this message finds you safe and well. I won't waste your time by asking you to forgive me for what I've done - I know that's impossible - but I would like to apologise anyway. You're no doubt aware that someone has been trying to kill you over the past few weeks. I can assure you now that that has stopped and you should be safe going about your business from now on. I want to promise you that the attempts on your life were not my doing. I think the police believe I ordered the Hamiltons to come after you but it's not that simple, believe me. I've had to leave the country because I think it's only a matter of time before the police arrest me again. I can't let that happen because I believe I'm the only one in a position to track down who is really behind all this. I know you will think this is a strange offer - but would you be interested in helping me bring to justice those who have been responsible for attacking you? You can contact me at this e-mail address. Once again my deepest apologies for what you have been through. KM "What do you think Mr MacGovern meant when he wrote 'I hope this message finds you well... ' and 'You're no doubt aware that someone has been trying to kill you... ' or 'I can assure you now that that has been stopped and you should be safe... '?" asked the advocate. "Objection!" exclaimed Kenny. "I see no reason why Mr MacGhee should be asked to guess what I meant in my e-mail, should be asked to presume my intent, when I'm here and can remove all doubt as to what those words meant!" "Overruled," said Judge Bradford. "We can't have you simply making up a new intention for your words after the fact, Mr MacGovern. I'm minded to allow the witness to answer." "Mr MacGhee?" the advocate prompted. "Erm, I took the words as meaning Mr MacGovern had somehow managed to call off the men who had been attempting to kill me," Mark answered. "And to do that he would have to have been the one in control of these men would he not?" "Yes." "And what about the last line in the e-mail - 'once again my deepest apologies for what you have been through' - isn't that apology also an admission of guilt? Why would he apologise unless he was the cause of 'what you have been through'? Do you believe that Mr MacGovern was responsible for the attempts made on your life Mr MacGhee and do you believe this e-mail confirms that?" "Yes," said Mark. The advocate spent almost an hour leading Mark through the details of the attempts on his life - making sure that the jury heard all of the graphic detail of the attempt to run Flick off the road and the burnt house in the Highlands. Jason Welsh - the solicitor who had made the attack with the knife in the tearoom - wasn't mentioned, presumably because he was still not admitting any link to Kenny or the Church of Cyberscience. "And how close to death would you say you and Miss Cartwright were?" asked the advocate. "I have no doubt that we'd both be dead if I hadn't woken when I did. Even then, if it hadn't been for Felicity's quick thinking we would never have managed to break through the double-glazing and would almost certainly have been burned to death. The flames were already singeing our hair. "The man that..." "Mr MacGhee! You have been warned not to mention any details of the incident that followed your escape from the cottage. Those events are the subject of an ongoing police investigation and may yet result in serious charges being brought." That brought some excited chatter in the courtroom as everywhere people speculated about what they weren't being allowed to hear. "So, in summary, Mr MacGhee. You have been attacked on a number of occasions and have been very fortunate to escape alive. You are in no doubt whatsoever that Mr MacGovern was behind those attacks, that Mr MacGovern ordered your death?" "That is correct," Mark answered. "No further questions," said MacMillan. Kenny got to his feet and started to cross-examine. "Mr MacGhee, Mark, you've just read out my e-mail so that everyone could hear what it says. At no point does it spell out anything that could remotely be taken as an admission that I had arranged for you to be killed. Indeed, the e-mail does contain an absolute denial that I was responsible. Isn't there one line that says - 'I want to promise you that the attempts on your life were not my doing' - how then do you arrive at a belief that I was behind these attempts?" Mark paused for a few moments before answering, clearly thinking carefully about Kenny's question. "I think you have to be able to put together everything else I was aware of before I received the e-mail. I knew about your connections with the Hamiltons through the casinos purchased by the Church of Cyberscience. I knew you controlled the Church. The very fact that you were aware of the attempts on my life were also a factor." "Mr MacGhee, the prosecution in this case has been singularly unable to connect me in any way with the Church of Cyberscience other than to references to it in my notebook. There is nothing connecting me to any real life organisation of that name. "Isn't what you're saying here today that you have put together one plus one and made three? Let's just stick with what the prosecution are putting forward as evidence, not the smoke and mirrors Mr MacMillan has tried to play in at the same time. Let's not make assumptions! "Mr MacGhee, is there anything in the e-mail alone that would lead you to conclude that I was behind the attempts made on your life?" "No, I guess not, but..." "Thank you. No further questions." "Mr MacMillan?" asked the judge, inviting the advocate to carry on making his case. "The prosecution rests, m'lord," the advocate responded. Kenny tried to keep the delight off of his face. The prosecution's case was extremely weak and he had mostly torn it to shreds. There was probably no need for him to do anything else in his defence, but there was something huge sitting on his shoulder. The judge fixed him with a look. "Mr MacGovern?" "I'd like to call Luke MacNab," said Kenny. A quick look up to the public gallery showed the shock on his old friend's face. Meanwhile, at the prosecution table, there was consternation and much shuffling of papers. Advocate MacMillan rose to his feet. "M'lord, I have to object. There is no one of that name listed on the witness sheet. The defence must give prior warning of the witnesses it intends to call!" "M'lord, Mr MacNab is there in the public gallery," Kenny offered helpfully. The judge considered momentarily and then nodded to the clerk. "I'm minded to allow this, but rest assured Mr MacGovern, if I don't think this is relevant or that it's going nowhere fast, I'll stop you. Is that clear?" "Yes, m'lord," Kenny replied. His last minute idea for the last e-mail had been to send one to Luke. He had no real hope that the link to the new brain defrag website would make it through Luke's firewall but just maybe in rebuilding his PC after Kenny had infected it, the security wouldn't be as tight. He was about to find out. Luke entered the witness box and took the oath. He was watching Kenny and there was some anxiety in his expression. Kenny approached. He tried to remain calm but found it difficult being so close to the man who had made him do so many evil and horrible things. He forced himself to speak through clenched teeth. "Luke, I might not be wearing a wig, but I'm still allowed to ask questions." Kenny's heart raced when he saw the glazed look appear in Luke's eyes. Yes! He had control of his tormentor. Now would come the reckoning! "Luke, have you heard of the Church of Cyberscience?" Kenny asked first. "No, I can't say that I have," Luke replied. His answer threw Kenny. How could that be? "What do you know about the brain defragmenter programme?" Kenny demanded to know. "Umm, nothing. I've never heard of it. Is it something you've come up with Kenny?" Kenny couldn't quite take it in. He was standing in front of the witness box with a quizzical look, a bemused look, painted on his face. There was a pregnant silence throughout the courthouse. Kenny wasn't speaking and everybody was staring at him, waiting for his next move. The judge lost patience however. "Mr MacGovern, I gave you fair warning. So far as I can see you have no idea where you're going with this witness. I'm going to spare your blushes by calling a halt to this now. Please move on, the witness is dismissed," said Judge Bradford. Kenny stumbled back to his table and sat down. Of all the outcomes he had dreamed of when he thought about facing his tormentor, this had not been one. If not Luke - who? That's what Luke's responses meant. He had been under control - he couldn't have lied. Luke genuinely had nothing to do with what had been happening to him over the past ten years. "Mr MacGovern, have you further witnesses to call?" asked Judge Bradford. Kenny weakly shook his head, still struggling to appreciate and come to terms with the knowledge that his absolute belief that Luke was 'the one' had been shattered. "The court will adjourn until 2pm. At that time both sides will present their closing arguments. The court is adjourned," announced Judge Bradford. ------- Now was the time to do what needed to be done, not later when the jury was sent out to consider their verdict. There would be increased focus on the jury later, no, now was the better time. The 'cleaner' followed the members of the jury as they moved along the corridor from the courtroom and into the jury room. There was a gamble here too - it was possible that not all of the jury would have used the Nintendo console and therefore wouldn't react to the trigger phrase. The cleaner had prepared for that however, the trigger phrase was perfect. "Hang 'em, hang 'em high, I say," said the cleaner. Nine of the jurors responded to the words, their eyes glazing over. The other four looked at the cleaner quizzically. "You'll all find him guilty of course," said the cleaner, neatly giving the order to the nine that had responded to the mind control programme. One of the unaffected jurors spoke up. "Look, you shouldn't be in here and whether we find the defendant guilty or not guilty has got nothing to do with you. Please leave immediately or I'll call security!" she said. The cleaner smiled. The job had been done, the order given. Leaving now was not a problem. All that remained was to change and return to the public gallery to watch the fun. ------- Drew was sitting with Mark and Felicity in the court's cafeteria. He had been sceptical all along about Kenny's wild claims of mind control. He had rubbished the teacher's claims that he had controlled his students. He had laughed at the notebook's entries that claimed Kenny had been ordered to do the things he had done. The last scenes in the courtroom were continuing to play over and over in his head however, and his conviction was weakening somewhat. "He really believed that Luke MacNab was behind all of this, didn't he?" he asked absently, letting his thoughts come out. "Eh? Oh, you mean Kenny in the courtroom?" Mark asked. "I was watching him closely, watching his face," said Drew. "When he called MacNab to the witness box there was a look of triumph there, almost as if he was thinking - yes! I've got you at last. "Then when he got closer to MacNab I could see the depth of anger and hatred in his eyes. He couldn't have been putting that on, no one is that good an actor. "His questions revealed more about what he was thinking. His reaction to Luke's answers was also very telling. He genuinely believed that MacNab had forced him to rape young girls and to order your murder, Mark. When MacNab answered the way he did, MacGovern believed him. MacNab could have been lying, but MacGovern believed him. He was devastated - did you see his face? He was absolutely devastated." "I know what you mean, it was as if his world had caved in at that moment. You know, I've been thinking about something else too," said Flick, "I think the reason he believed MacNab was that he was controlling him." Drew's beliefs about mind control might be weakening but he wasn't willing to accept Flick's suggestion. That was too much! "Oh come on! Right there in front of everybody? How could he? I'm sorry, but that's just too far-fetched!" said the detective. "Don't be so quick to write it off, Drew. Flick has been doing some very interesting research on the Internet, let her at least tell us what she thinks," said Mark. Drew still looked unconvinced but he nodded to Flick. "Think about it," she said, "given what was at stake, given how important and how convinced MacGovern was that it was Luke, why would he believe him? Why would he listen to his answers and accept them as the truth? It could only be because he knew Luke couldn't lie!" Drew considered Flick's argument. He had to admit that it had merit. He focused more closely as she continued. "There's something else that I believe gives the game away. Why did the witnesses change their testimony? Kim Park had made a detailed statement to the police yet when she came face to face with MacGovern she changed her tune at the drop of a hat. The accountant and the solicitor were the same. I think MacGovern was controlling them!" "How?" asked MacIntosh. "He used the same phrase with all of them. We all thought it was a joke - and it was funny the first time he said it, but why say it over and over again? I think it was one of these 'trigger phrases' he's mentioned in his notebook," said Flick excitedly. "I might not be wearing a wig, but I'm still allowed to ask questions!" they all said together. Drew tried to completely suspend his disbelief. He could see how Flick's explanation could fit the circumstances and events. "If you're right, he's made me look like an idiot! This case rested on my investigation and he's torn that down by getting the witnesses to change their stories. I'm still not convinced though. Mind control? Are we serious here?" ------- Chapter 24 There was a crush as everyone tried to squeeze back into the courtroom before the 2pm resumption. Kenny had spent the interval sitting alone in a guarded room. He had been provided with paper and pens and he had forced himself to try to shake off the despair he felt. Instead, he needed to focus on making sure he was found not guilty and that meant making a good job of his closing arguments. He was escorted along a corridor that led to one of the side doors to the courtroom. Kenny took his seat at the table and glanced across at advocate MacMillan. The entire prosecution team did not look happy at all. That was surely good news for him, wasn't it? "All rise for his lordship, Lord Justice General Bradford," called out the court's clerk. Everyone in the courtroom complied with this instruction and the judge swept in and sat in his chair. "Please be seated." Judge Bradford proceeded to explain to the members of the jury what was going to happen next. He offered them advice on how to weigh up the evidence they had heard, for example what was direct and what was circumstantial evidence. He lectured them on their duty to arrive at an honest verdict, on ensuring they performed their civic duty to the very best of their ability. After that he invited the prosecution to make their closing summary. Advocate MacMillan rose to his feet and moved closer to the jury, trying to create a sense of familiarity and intimacy. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, you've listened to a lot of testimony over the past week. You might be wondering just how you are going to make sense of it all, how you're going to sift through everything you've listened to and find the 'killer facts' that help you arrive at your verdict? Well, I'm going to try to help you do that now. Let's consider what the 'killer facts' are together, shall we?" The advocate proceeded to go through the case he had presented, highlighting key points and of course rendering a thoroughly one-sided view of everything. "We have the sworn testimony of the girls, the film equipment, the clothing the girls wore in the movies and the décor of Cambo House that can be seen clearly on the website. There is no doubt that Mr MacGovern had sex with these girls and filmed them to generate money on the Internet. "You were shown the account statements for the Church of Cyberscience and you know therefore where its money comes from - Glasgow's gangs are the biggest single contributors! You saw the money generated by the sugar & spice website. You heard the testimony of DI MacIntosh clearly establishing the fact that Mr MacGovern runs the Church of Cyberscience. "The solicitor who set up the church has made a statement confirming that he did it for Mr MacGovern. The accountants have made statements that they laundered money for Mr MacGovern. "Most importantly of all, you have had the opportunity to read Mr MacGovern's confession in his own handwriting!" The advocate carried on, making Kenny out to be a vile individual who had singularly abused his position and who had no scruples whatsoever. Kenny tried to keep a neutral expression on his face throughout. At long last the advocate finished his speech and sat down. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, the 'killer fact' is that Kenneth MacGovern has systematically abused the trust society has placed in him and he is guilty! Today you have the opportunity to send a message to him and others like him - a message that society will deal harshly with those who abuse our trust. You can do that by returning a guilty verdict on all counts!" Kenny had been making adjustments to his notes in light of what MacMillan had said and the points he had highlighted. He rose now to make his own closing speech. "You know, as a teacher I'm used to marking lots and lots of coursework and homework. I've lost track of how often I've written 'evidence?' in the margin of such work in red ink, questioning a pupil on the basis for their answer. "I'm afraid that I would have to write that same question again and again across the entirety of the prosecution's case here. "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury, I've asked you before to ignore Mr MacMillan's smoke and mirrors and instead to focus on the evidence. That shouldn't be very hard to do because, let's be honest, there isn't any evidence! "It's actually embarrassing to look at what the prosecution expect you to believe. Charges of rape and sex with minors - yet those involved have admitted in this courtroom that no sex took place but instead they were childish, schoolgirl fantasies. "Money laundering charges - and here those committing the crimes have claimed my involvement but again, no evidence and then in this courtroom they admitted to striking a deal with the prosecution. Finally, you heard with your own ears the admission from the witnesses that I was not involved! "The Church of Cyberscience - no evidence has been presented that shows I'm in anyway involved with it. In fact the very people who set the organisation up, the solicitors, agreed in this courtroom that I wasn't involved. "An e-mail that explicitly states I had no responsibility for the attempts on Mr MacGhee's life has been held up as evidence that I was! How bizarre is that? "If anyone is a criminal in this case, it's the prosecution for wasting everyone's time! There is not one shred of evidence that could be relied upon to suggest that I am guilty of anything the crown alleges! "Ladies and gentlemen of the jury. I started out on this case by telling you that I knew little of the law but that I knew I was innocent. I believe that has proven to be the case. "I trust you all to reach the right verdict. As I said when I started out - I am innocent. Thank you." Judge Bradford indicated that the jury should retire to consider their verdict and they filed from the jury box and out of the courtroom. ------- Judge Bradford admitted to himself that he was impressed by how well the teacher had done. It was clear that the prosecution's case was extremely weak and had been shown to be full of holes. Nevertheless, MacGovern had handled himself well in the courtroom and for a lay person had conducted a very effective defence. I don't see it catching on though!" the judge thought to himself with a chuckle. Two hours later a messenger brought the first signs of a problem for the judge. He was already amazed at how long the jury was taking to reach a verdict - it was so clear cut surely? The messenger advised that the jury was unable to reach a unanimous verdict. Their view was that this position was unlikely to change and they were seeking the Judge's advice. Judge Bradford couldn't believe such a situation was credible. What was there to disagree on? He thought about things and decided to accept a majority verdict. The messenger was dispatched with that decision and the judge waited for news that a verdict had been reached. The messenger returned fairly quickly to advise the judge that the jury were ready. He donned his robes and returned to the courtroom. "Please be seated," the Judge told the courtroom. He turned to address the jury. "Foreman of the jury, I believe it has not been possible to reach a unanimous verdict in this case. Have you reached a majority verdict on the charges before you?" he asked. The foreman was seated in the front left corner of the jury box and he got to is feet now, a slip of paper in one hand. "We have m'lord," he answered. "On the numerous counts of rape and having sex with a minor, how do you find the defendant?" "Guilty, m'lord," said the foreman. "WHAT?!" screamed Kenny. There was uproar in the courtroom at this completely unexpected verdict and Judge Bradford's face grew red as he tried to restore order. "ORDER! ORDER! ORDER I SAY!" Eventually the judge's anger got through to the courtroom and everyone settled down. "Another outburst like that and I will have this courtroom cleared!" he yelled, "and you, Mr MacGovern, you will control yourself sir. Do I make myself clear?" Kenny was in shock from hearing the guilty verdict and he could only nod in response before slumping back into his seat. Judge Bradford focused his attention back on the foreman of the jury. "Mr foreman, on the charges of money laundering, how do you find the defendant?" "Guilty, m'lord." "And on the two counts of commissioning murder, how do you find the defendant?" "Guilty, m'lord." Judge Bradford shook his head in bewilderment. In all his years as a judge he had never known a jury to get such a clear-cut case so badly wrong. This wasn't justice, this was a travesty! Kenny glanced up at the public gallery and something clicked in his head. "Of course!" he said out loud. Leaping up from his seat, he approached the judge. "Judge, something is badly wrong here. Would it be possible to speak to you urgently and in private please?" Bradford looked at the teacher, assessing whether he was a risk or not. The judge's sense of justice had been seriously offended in the verdicts and he was predisposed to listen to anything that might correct that. He nodded and signalled to the courtroom security guards as a precaution. He had them follow behind as he led Kenny into his private chambers. Advocate MacMillan looked puzzled but couldn't say anything. Once the door was closed, Kenny tried to convince the judge to take action. "Judge Bradford, what I'm going to tell you is going to sound pretty far-fetched. The only way I know of to convince you of what I'm saying is to give a demonstration. Could you ask one of these gentlemen to and get the detective who testified in the case? He's sitting in the public gallery." The judge nodded to one of the security guards and he left to find Drew MacIntosh. "While we're waiting I should start my story. There has been a case within a case here all along, Judge. The prosecution didn't want to mention it because it could have undermined their case. I didn't want to mention it because I'm sure I would have been laughed out of court. "The one thing that no one has mentioned since the trial began is that I have developed a mind control programme. It's referred to frequently in my notebook, but you'll note that Mr MacMillan never once raised it. "The notebook is actually my recollection of the things someone has ordered me to do while controlling my mind. I think that same person has somehow managed to use mind control on the jury," said Kenny. The Judge's face showed just how little he believed what Kenny was saying could be true. He was actually disappointed that the teacher didn't have something else to reveal, something that would explain the jury's strange verdict. The door opened and the guard returned with a puzzled looking DI MacIntosh. "I'm sorry for what I'm about to do detective, but I need to demonstrate something right away or the judge here just isn't going to believe me. Did you know 'the bluebells are blue'?" asked Kenny. Drew's eyes glazed over as he heard the trigger phrase. Kenny had shown him the programme in the library of Low Moss Prison when he had revealed the details of the offshore account. "Detective, can you confirm that I have claimed all along that someone was controlling my mind?" Kenny asked. "Yes, you have claimed that and I'm aware of the countless references to that in your notebook. It beggars belief however, I just can't accept that there can be any truth in it," Drew replied. "Detective, I want you to pretend you're a pig. Do it, do it now please," ordered Kenny. The Judge and the two security guards watched in amazement as the detective dropped onto all fours and began to crawl around the floor grunting and oinking like a pig. Judge Bradford looked from the detective to the teacher and back again. "Are you really controlling him?" the judge asked. Kenny nodded and then decided that a further demonstration was required. "Detective, you can stop being a pig now but I think you'll find you really need to pee badly. I think you'll need to pee in the Judge's bucket over here. Try to make sure you don't splash any onto the floor," said Kenny. The Judge watched in amazement as Drew stood up and walked over to the bin, clearly intent on peeing into it. "Stop him for goodness sake! I believe you, I believe you. Now stop the poor man," cried the Judge. Kenny ended the control and Drew returned to normal. He saw that the Judge and the two security men were looking at him strangely. "What? Why are you looking at me like that?" Drew asked. The Judge ignored him and instead continued to focus on Kenny. "I think you should have someone search the jury room. If I'm right, they should find something that could have been used to transfer the programme - something like a computer or a games console," said Kenny. The Judge nodded to one of the security guards and he left immediately to investigate the jury room. While they were waiting, the Judge explained to Drew what Kenny had made him do. The detective shook his head, convinced that the Judge was as mad as the teacher. He glanced at the remaining security guard and saw that he was nodding and laughing. For the first time Drew began to really consider that mind control might be possible. The security guard returned from the jury room - the Nintendo console in his hand. The judge looked questioningly at Kenny. "I'll need access to a computer and some tools. Meantime it would be a good idea to lock the jury away somewhere. This should only take me fifteen or twenty minutes," Kenny said. "Wait a minute," said Judge Bradford, "did you just admit to me that you did do all those things the prosecution said you did?" "Yes, Judge. I've just told you - somebody else was controlling me. I had no choice, you've just witnessed DI MacIntosh here suffering the same thing. But I've got a good idea of who is to blame now. Don't worry, the real criminal behind all of this will be caught, I'm sure of it. Now, I need a computer." Kenny was as good as his word and twenty minutes later he had managed to extract the trigger phrase from the version of the brain defrag programme that was contained in the games console. "Well, it's certainly someone with a sense of humour," he said, "Judge, let's go see the jury, shall we?" One of the security guards led the way to the jury room and took up station outside. Judge Bradford, Kenny and Drew all entered the room to find the twelve members of the jury talking amongst themselves. "Ladies and gentlemen I need to ask you whether anyone has tried to influence your verdict in this case?" asked the Judge. The jury was outraged at such a suggestion and let the Judge know in no uncertain terms. While some of them were still angrily denying any such interference, Kenny used the trigger phrase. "Hang 'em, hang 'em high, I say." Nine of the jury members reacted by getting a glazed look in their eye and that was the only confirmation that Kenny needed. He decided the Judge and DI MacIntosh might need a little more than that so he decided to give it to them. "I want all of those who voted 'guilty' to sit on the floor please." Nine of the jurors did so. "I want you to tell me who ordered you to vote 'guilty' and then pretend you're a chicken," said Kenny. All nine spoke together. "The cleaner," they said and then began clucking and flapping their arms up and down. Kenny laughed but then decided he had gone far enough. The jurors had been innocent victims in this; he shouldn't be making fun of them. "I'm sorry, you can stop being chickens and stand up now," he said. The three jurors who hadn't sat down confirmed that there had been a cleaner in the room earlier and that the cleaner had used the same 'hang 'em high' phrase. Kenny knew that the controller could have sent anybody to plant the console and say the trigger phrase but he thought he knew this time who the culprit was. ------- Drew locked the car and walked up the path to Luke MacNab's house. He had called ahead to arrange to speak to him about Kenny MacGovern and why Kenny had called him as a witness. Luke opened the door before he reached it, clearly he had been watching form the window. "Thanks for agreeing to speak to me, Mr MacNab," said Drew. "Not at all officer, if I can do anything to help Kenny then I'm happy to. Would you like a cup of tea?" Luke asked. Drew declined and Luke showed him into the sitting room. "This is my sister, Jennifer," Luke explained as he introduced the girl who was sitting on the sofa. "It won't be a problem for her to be here, will it?" "No, no problem at all," Drew replied. The detective took a seat and began questioning Luke. "Why do you think Kenny called you to the witness stand?" Drew asked. "I've absolutely no idea, officer. I was shocked actually. Then the questions he asked me didn't make any sense at all. To be honest, I don't think Kenny looked well." Drew recounted the story of what he believed Kenny had been ordered to do over the previous ten years. That was the only way of explaining the significance of Kenny's questions. "You mean Kenny thought I had been controlling him? He really thought I had made him do all those horrid things?" Luke asked in horror. "I'm afraid so, Mr MacNab." Telling the story had taken three-quarters of an hour and Drew was getting anxious to be on his way. It seemed as if his visit might have been wasted. "What will you do now?" Luke asked as Drew got up from his seat. "Well, there are still some loose ends I can follow up on. I'm still puzzled why Kenny ordered the Hamiltons and Jason Welsh to kill Mark MacGhee for instance. That just doesn't add up," said Drew. "Perhaps it was because the police wouldn't suspect a solicitor?" said Jennifer. "Maybe," said Drew, "anyway, the next thing I need to do is find MacGovern's second notebook. That must contain the details of the offshore bank account and I need to make sure that money is recovered. There can't be many places he could have hidden it, he wasn't back in the country long before I arrested him." Luke shook his head as if still trying to come to terms with everything he had heard. He showed Drew to the front door and stood watching as the detective drove away. ------- "Are you sure this is going to work?" Kenny asked. "Positive," said Drew, "always follow the money. That's how to solve cases, always follow the money." They had been waiting for more than four hours already and Kenny was beginning to doubt the wisdom of waiting any longer when he heard the key in the lock of the door to his apartment. Somebody obviously knew he kept the key under the doormat. The door opened and they heard footsteps coming along the hall then the sitting room door opened. "Hello, Jennifer," said Kenny. She turned to flee only to find two policemen had followed her into the apartment and they were blocking the way. "You know, the only way you could have known Jason Welsh was a solicitor was if it was you who sent him after the journalist. You slipped up girlie," said Drew ------- "We met her you know? She was the one who was with Luke in the bar. I had a strong suspicion that she was using drugs," said Mark. "She has been apparently, been using them for years. That's one of the reasons she wanted more and more money," Kenny replied. "But why did she start all of this? I mean what did she have against you?" asked Flick. "That's kind of ironic. According to Drew, it's because of something that happened when we were much younger. I happened to walk in on her as she was coming out of the shower one day - she was naked - it was my fondest memory for years! "According to the police psychiatrists, that incident had a very bad effect on Jennifer. The fact that I didn't follow up and try to do anything to her has apparently scarred her mentally. The fact that I didn't try to touch her meant that she felt I was rejecting her, that I didn't find her attractive. "The truth was that I was scared shitless and completely tongue-tied. It seems she had a terrible crush on me and the whole episode seems to have triggered something in her. When she stumbled over a copy of the programme, she saw that as a way to pay me back for rejecting her. Jennifer already had some mental health problems it seems and this just made things worse." "What will happen to her now?" asked Flick. "She's going in for treatment, but she won't ever stand trial for this," Kenny replied. "And the money?" asked Mark. "Ask DI MacIntosh. I handed over all the access details for the offshore account. Maybe the policeman's ball will be a lavish affair this year!" laughed Kenny. ------- The End ------- Posted: 2008-04-18 Last Modified: 2008-09-22 / 11:03:41 am ------- http://storiesonline.net/ -------