Brutal Revenge by James Raven Read Free Book Online Page B

byres — silent
witness to a vanished population. Beyond them, rising into the night, heather-covered
hills around which were spread bleak shaggy moors. Occasionally a light would
show, a mere pin prick in the darkness, and it would serve as a chilling
reminder of their isolation.
    The road was rutted and sinuous and only a
short step up from being a cart track.
    It took them all of ten minutes to get to
the island's capital, which was nothing more than a cluster of small two-storey
grey houses strung out along either side of the poorly surfaced road. This one
street alone, according to Maclean, constituted the entire village. There was a
grocer's, a post-office, a church. Out of about twenty houses only eight were
showing light.
    The street was completely deserted, and
the silence, when they stopped briefly to look around, was almost palpable. An
air of peace and permanence hung over the place like a heavy blanket. All the
houses were matchbox size, rather quaint, and there was no escaping the fact
that the place possessed a charm all its own.
    The van crept slowly along the road and
turned left on its squeaky axle on to a narrow earth road between two houses.
This took them down to the harbour where three small fishing vessels bounced at
their moorings and a few rowing boats were drawn up on a small shingle beach.
    “They should be easy enough to disable,”
Stewart said. “They run on diesels and I've worked on those often enough.”
    Hodge said, “You told us there were only
three boats, Mac. I can see at least six.”
    “We've only got to concern ourselves with
the fishing boats,” Maclean said. “The other boats are only for use around the
island. They wouldn't attempt to cross to the mainland in one of those.”
    As
the van journeyed on to the concrete pier the four of them studied the shadows
in silence. Although Maclean was not surprised to find the place entirely
devoid of life, the others were. It was as if they were the only people on the
island, cut off from the rest of civilisation.
    The
fishing boats were moored in a line along the pier. Maclean pulled up next to
the first one and switched off the engine. Again the heavy silence closed in on
them.
    He
gestured towards the boats and spoke softly. “They’re all yours, Bob. Make it
quick. If anyone comes along I'll whistle a warning. Okay?”
    “Okay.”
    Stewart
beamed a smile at the others, picked up the small canvas bag containing the
tools he had purchased in Oban, and lowered himself down the iron ladder on to
the boat's deck. As he set to work on the engine the others climbed out and had
a smoke as they listened to the clanging of metal on the deck below.
    The
bitter wind lashed unmercifully at their faces and as Parker looked down into
the blackened water of the harbour it was as if it was beginning to boil before
his very eyes.
    Turning
to the others, he said, “It'll be hell going back.”
    For
the first time, Maclean's face betrayed his concern. “Don't worry. We'll be all
right.”
    “I
only hope Stewpot is as good a sailor as he's cracked up to be,” Hodge said. “Because
I never did learn to swim.”
    Stewart
spent about ten minutes on each boat and in all that time no one came to
enquire what they were up to.
    When
Stewart's work was done, Maclean said, “You were quick.”
    “They
were a piece of cake. I only had to undo a few nuts and screws.”
    “You're
sure they won't be able to use the boats tomorrow?”
    “Well,
let's put it this way,” he said, smiling mischievously. “If they want to,
they'll have to find the parts first — and I threw those over the side.”
    They
piled into the van and backed off the pier on low revs. Minutes later they were
outside a small brick-built hut just up the road from the village. According to
Maclean it was typical of the many exchanges located on islands throughout the
Hebrides.
    Maclean
stopped the van. “This is the exchange. Parker and I have to follow the road
for about a mile to