Once out of the shelter of the land MacLean could sense the full force of the wind as it drove the rain against the carriage windows and obscured any view to the west. The carriage was practically empty so he crossed the aisle to the other side and got the view eastwards to the oil loading terminal at Hound Point. He looked up and smiled as he saw an aircraft coming in on its approach to the airport. Sometimes it was nice to see things from both angles. He returned to his seat and began to worry about the weather being too bad for the chopper to lift men off the rig.
By the time the train reached Aberdeen however, the sky had lightened and the wind had dropped a little, although it still tended to gust uncomfortably, making life difficult for the ladies of the granite city to cope with umbrellas as they struggled down Union Street with heads bowed. He put off some time drinking coffee in a small cafe which smelled of wet clothing and then some more by walking idly round a department store before eventually hailing a taxi and asking to be taken out to the heliport.
The sound of the helicopter’s blades was loud but uneven as the wind stole it away in recurrent gusts. MacLean shielded his eyes from the stinging rain and watched the big yellow Chinook bounce gently on to the tarmac to be met by ground crew looking like field mice in their large ear protectors. After what seemed an age the men began to disembark, all looking much alike in their yellow survival suits and carrying kit bags. Leavey was one of the last men to emerge; he was carrying the green holdall he had used when MacLean worked with him on the rigs.
MacLean waited for a moment to see if he was with anyone in particular but he didn’t seem to be. He crossed the tarmac at an angle to intercept him before he reached the terminal building.
‘It’s been a while, Nick,’ he said.
Leavey turned and took a moment to recognise the figure, huddled against the wind. ‘Good God, Sean MacLean!’ he exclaimed. He transferred his holdall to his left hand and reached out to shake hands with MacLean. ‘What on earth are you doing here?’
‘I fancied a pint,’ said MacLean.
‘You and me both,’ smiled Leavey.
Someone up ahead shouted to Leavey and Leavey waved him on saying that he would catch up. He looked at MacLean and said, ‘So is it a reunion with the lads you’re after or something quieter? His expression seemed to suggest that he already knew the answer.
‘I’d like to talk,’ said MacLean.
Leavey nodded and said, ‘I’ll just get organised and signed off. How about “The Anchor” in five minutes?’
MacLean walked the two hundred metres or so to the ‘Anchor’ bar and found that it was just opening for the evening. The wooden half-doors shook as unseen hands behind them undid reluctant bolts and swung them back to secure them with hooks on either side. The barman, a bald, thickset man with a ruddy complexion made even more ruddy with the effort of bending down to unlock the doors, looked up at MacLean and said, ‘Just off the rig?’
‘Not this time,’ said MacLean and followed him inside. The bar was cold and the ashtrays had not been emptied from lunchtime. There was a smell of stale smoke and a suggestion of salty dampness about the place.
‘What’ll it be?’
MacLean ordered a whisky for himself and one for Leavey and looked at the pictures behind the bar while he waited for his friend to arrive. One was of a lifeboat ploughing through stormy seas. Another two were of helicopters and there was one of the ill-fated Piper Alpha platform being consumed by fire.
Leavey arrived and smiled at the whisky waiting for him on the bar. ‘First for a fortnight,’ he said. ‘Remember that feeling?’
‘Well enough,’ smiled MacLean. ‘It’s good to see you again.’
‘Good to see you too,’ said Leavey He drained his glass and ordered up two more. This time they left the bar counter and sat down. ‘This is not a social visit; is it?’ said Leavey.
MacLean agreed with a smile. ‘No, I need help,’ he said. ‘I had hoped to find Mick Doyle here as well but they told me he didn’t work for the company any more.’
‘Mick doesn’t work for anyone any more,’ said Leavey. ‘He’s dead.’
MacLean was shocked. ‘What happened?’ he asked sadly.
‘Accident on the rig, washed overboard in a force nine, no chance.’
‘Poor Mick.’
‘One of the best,’ said Leavey. He raised his glass and toasted, ‘Absent friends.’
MacLean raised his own glass silently.
‘What’s your problem?’ asked Leavey.
‘You must be dog tired,’ said MacLean. ‘Maybe you would rather wait until tomorrow?’
Leavey examined MacLean’s face and said, ‘So time is not a factor then?’
‘Actually it is,’ said MacLean.
‘Then tell me now.’
MacLean told Leavey about Carrie and how the attack had been intended for him. He told him that there was a chance that he could repair the disfigurement if he could get his hands on Cytogerm but that was proving difficult.
Leavey sipped his drink and began to recap on what MacLean had told him. ‘If I understand you right, you have to steal this Cytogerm from this drug company but you don’t know where they keep it. You do know the name of the guy who’s in charge of it so you want to break in to the company’s offices to find out where he works. Your only alternative is to find this woman, May… ‘
‘Haas.’
‘May Haas, but you have no lead to her either. On top of that the opposition doesn’t think twice about killing people. How am I doing?’
‘About sums it up,’ agreed MacLean.
Leavey examined the bottom of his glass in silence then said; ‘There is another way.’
‘Tell me.’
‘You mentioned a regular meeting of the company’s directors at a hotel in Geneva?’
‘The Stagelplatz,’ said MacLean.
‘These men must know the whereabouts of X14. We could grab hold of one and ask him.’
MacLean had to admit that the idea was simple and straightforward and that he hadn’t thought of it himself. They didn’t even have to use the Stagelplatz meeting place because the names and addresses of the directors were no secret. They could get to most of them without too much trouble he reckoned. Then he saw the drawback and told Leavey. ‘I can’t believe that all the directors are involved in this affair,’ he said.
‘You mean we might approach the wrong one?’
‘Precisely, and once we’d done that the cat would be out of the bag. We couldn’t keep an innocent man quiet.’
Leavey nodded as he took MacLean’s meaning. ‘So it’s back to breaking and entering in Geneva.’
‘I think so.’
‘This kid of yours, she’s really bad? I mean, there’s no other way of fixing her up?’
MacLean shook his head and said, ‘There’s skin grafting but she will be severely disfigured for the rest of her life. Cytogerm surgery is her only chance of being restored to normality.’
‘How old is she?’
‘Five.’
‘Shit,’ said Leavey. He suddenly drained his glass in one go and said, ‘All right, count me in. I’ll have a double.’
‘Thanks Mick,’ said MacLean. ‘You can have as many doubles as you like.’ He got to his feet to go to the bar but Leavey stopped him saying, ‘Not just yet, I have to go out for about fifteen minutes. Wait till I get back.’ Without saying any more, he got up and left.’
THIRTEEN
True to his word, Leavey returned fifteen minutes later but not alone. He was accompanied by a short, smiling man with a barrel chest and thinning fair hair who MacLean thought he recognised from somewhere but couldn’t remember where. Unfortunately the look on the man’s face said that he knew him well enough. MacLean’s embarrassment was cut short by the man opening the front of his shirt to reveal a jagged scar. ‘Willie MacFarlane,’ he said. ‘You saved my life.’
‘Of course,’ exclaimed MacLean. ‘You got hurt on the rig; I never saw you again. How are you?’
‘Right as rain, Doc,’ said MacFarlane, fastening up his shirt and sitting down at the table. ‘I never got a chance to thank you properly.’