The sun burned the day clear as Caitrin darted glances around but saw and heard no one. They were all gone. She waited a few moments, crawled out from beneath the lorry, and crept to the harbor’s edge. The fishing boat was moving faster, ploughing into the waves as it neared the headland.
Caitrin saw two men leave the wheelhouse to step out on deck and was just able to recognize one of them as Hector. Her anger swelled, and she watched the boat plunge and rear as it met the stronger open waters past the headland. The bow slewed left, and the boat slowed to regain its direction. Against a freshening wind it promised to be a hard journey, wherever it was going. But no matter how slowly the boat went, she was being left farther behind by the minute. And what do I do next?
She needed to take action, any action, and that meant not being marooned on this desolate spit of land. She remembered the lorry parked at the top of the boat ramp. They had taken the ignition key, but wiring an engine without one was one of the first things taught in 512’s elementary skills lessons. It took only a few seconds to start the engine. She put the lorry into gear and drove east, away from the fishing boat steaming west. And as she drove, she assessed her options. Churchill needed to be contacted and told what had happened while she continued her own pursuit. To do that, she needed help and, driving past the fields, remembered the Tiger Moth and knew exactly where to find it.
* * *
The sky above RAF Kinmory was filled with buzzing yellow Tiger Moth trainers as Caitrin pulled the lorry up to the main gate. She noticed rows of stones encircling the grass around the guardhouse. They were precisely spaced and painted a dazzling white, mute testimony to both the RAF’s devotion to order and the Sisyphean toil of poor airmen who had committed grievous sins and were handed a paintbrush as punishment. The corporal who stepped out to meet her was not impressed with her or the lorry. Understandably, because both were worn and grubby. Caitrin gifted him her warmest smile as compensation.
“I know this is a little unusual, Sergeant, but I wondered if I might speak to my brother? Just for a minute.”
He was not at all swayed by her elevating his rank. “It’s Corporal, Miss. This is an active RAF station, and you might not be aware of this, but we are at war with the Germans.”
Who probably couldn’t find Kinmory if you laid a trail of Apfelstrudel from Berlin to the village center. “I understand, and I’m not German, promise. Could you please give him a message from me? It’s very, very important.” Caitrin almost put a teary tremor in her voice, but that was a little too simple and a bit demeaning.
The corporal’s demeanor softened. “Half a tick, Miss. Stay there.” He left for the guardhouse and returned with a notepad and pencil. He gave them to her. “Write it down. What’s his name?”
“Dafydd Colline.”
The corporal nodded his head with approval. “He’s a good ’un, that man. Write what you want, and I’ll make sure it gets to him.”
Caitrin scribbled a note, returned the notepad, and noticed he tore off the paper and folded it without reading. “You’re a good ’un yourself, Wing Commander.”
He grinned. “The blokes go down to the Claymore pub in the village when they’re off-duty. Turn right at the junction, and it’s a couple of hundred yards on your right. They’ll be landing soon, and I’ll tell him to meet you there.”
“You must have sisters.”
“I do. Oh, I certainly do.” He winked and saluted her as she turned the lorry around and drove into Kinmory.
She had been in her room, a small one over the bar, just long enough to wash her face when someone rapped on the door. She opened it to see her brother Dafydd grinning his Dafydd grin. Her heart pulsed as she embraced him. She resembled their mother, in the sense that she looked like her, but Dafydd was their father. He looked and acted like him; had the same voice, the same mannerisms, and the same generous soul. They embraced again and for the first time in weeks, she felt safe, she was safe.
“What a wonderful surprise, but with my beloved and adventurous sister, not really. Corporal Kevin Waterfield at the main gate wants to know when he should organize the wedding, and would you like to honeymoon at Lyme Regis or Blackpool?”
“Tell him I will have to give it some serious thought.”
He took both of her hands in his, stepped back to study her, and frowned. “I am worried about you.”
Caitrin shrugged and looked down at her ruined clothes. “I do look a bit as though I’ve been dragged sideways through a dead haggis. Damn! I just reneged on my solemn vow to never again impugn Scotland’s favorite dish.”
“What are you doing up here?”
“I’m chasing some very bad people.”
“Alone?”
“It didn’t start that way, but yes, alone.”
“Who?”
“Can’t tell you.”
“Can’t or won’t?”
“Both.” If there were one person in the world she could rely on, it was her brother Dafydd. But she could not tell even him about this operation.
“Do you need help from me?” he asked and waited for the long pause that would come. Caitrin was fiercely independent, and usually her answer was no.
“Yes, I do need your help,” she said, and that answer surprised him. “The men I’m after are in a fishing boat.”
“What kind of fishing boat?”
“Fifty feet long, traditional wooden-hulled coastal fishing boat, carvel-planked with straight grain larch, high raked oak stem, and a blue hull with white painted wheelhouse.”
“My hawk-eyed sister hasn’t lost her touch. You probably saw it for all of two seconds,” he said with an admiring laugh.
“Close the door,” she said, took out the guide book, spread the map on the bed, and pointed to the Kilcanan harbor. “They left from here and went northwest. Question is: what’s out there?”
Dafydd peered over her shoulder at the map. “Two things are out there, the Atlantic Ocean and the tip of the Outer Hebrides Islands. Being a coastal vessel, they would not go into the Atlantic, and anyway that would make them a sitting duck for a U-boat or surface raider. The land directly on that heading would be the island of Barra. Castlebay is on the southern end of the island, and it is the only harbor.”
“That’s exactly what I thought too. But what’s in Castlebay?”
“Kisimul Castle, which is a ruin, a scattering of cottages and fishing boats, and that’s about it.”
“Then why would they go there?”
“Without you telling me more about them, I can’t help.”
“I can’t do that.” She shook her head. “How long would it take them to get to Barra?”
