The Cormorant Café was an insubstantial pale blue clapboard edifice resting on a pile of railway sleepers and tucked in protectively against the harbour wall. There was a gap of about two feet between the ground and the door, and therefore an upturned fish box had become a permanent fixture in front of the café to act as a step. Dan entered the establishment and looked around for his contact, and immediately saw a slightly built man wearing a pair of brown corduroy jeans, a dark blue donkey jacket, and a wise look on his agreeable face rise to his feet at the far end of the café. He picked up a notebook and mobile phone from the table and walked towards him with easy strides.

“Mr. Porter, I believe,” he said in a slow, deliberate voice, holding out a hand.

“Dan,” he replied, shaking the hand.

“Good to meet you, Dan. I’m Ronnie Macaskill.” He flicked a thumb towards the counter. “Are you wanting to get yourself a cup of coffee?”

“No, I won’t bother. I’ve got to get this load back to the factory as quickly as I can.”

Ronnie nodded slowly. “So Pete told me this morning. We do, however, have a slight complication.”

Dan frowned at the man. “Being?”

“Being that I have four boxes of clonkers on their way up from Campbeltown and Pete Jackson wants you to take those back with you as well. The lorry is heading on to Glasgow, so I’m going to be meeting him in Lochgilphead in about three quarters of an hour.”

“That’s going to make me pretty tight for time.”

“Aye, I realize that, so I’m thinking that it would be best if we met up again outside of the town so that you can get away up the road as quickly as possible. Now, would you be knowing any landmarks around here?”

Dan scratched at the back of his head. “Not really. Oh, except that yacht marina about three miles north from here.”

“Dunstaffnage. That would do just grand. If you get yourself there in about an hour and a quarter, I’ll see if I can drive like the wind and get to you as soon as I can.”

“Right. So where do I get loaded up here?”

Ronnie pushed open the door of the café. “I’ll show you.” He stepped down onto the fish box and Dan made to follow him, but the man turned around quickly and pushed Dan back into the café, closing the door behind him.

“Oh, damn the world!” he muttered, as he walked over to the window and peered out at the side. “What the hell is he doing down here again?”

“What’s the matter?” Dan asked.

Ronnie beckoned him over. “Have a look here.” He moved out of the way to give Dan his space. “You see that red BMW there?”