‘As you can see, you’re not really in a position to dictate terms, Mr McCulloch,’ the older man said. ‘Now, you have three seconds to drop your weapon or my security employee, who currently has a high-powered rifle aimed at your heart, will shoot.’

Boonzie might not have been as fast as he once was, but he was still fast. He made a dive for it. There was an explosion of dirt and snow as the rifle bullet blew a crater in the ground behind where he’d been standing a split-second earlier. Macleod and the older man retreated behind the stone archway. Boonzie’s blood was frozen in his veins as he raced towards the cover of the dead tree near the ruins, ducked behind its thick trunk and pressed up tight against it. Glancing past its gnarly edge he saw four more men stepping out of the bushes and striding towards him.

Men with pistols.

Boonzie knew he was cornered, and the sudden realisation started up a heavy thudding in his heart.

The armed men were coming closer. Someone called out, ‘Give it up, McCulloch, you’re done!’

Boonzie began to sweat. The perspiration sheeted down his face and prickled his eyeballs. The thumping in his chest was so strong it felt as though it would shake his ribs apart. A ripping pain seared his whole left side, from hip to shoulder. He blinked to try to clear his vision, which had suddenly gone blurry. Something was happening to him. Something catastrophically bad that he had no strength to fight back against.

In the next moment, he was staring up at the grey sky. He realised that he’d fallen over and was sprawled on his back on the hard, cold ground.

In his last moments before he fell into a faint, the men reached him. Through his blurred vision he caught glimpses of their grinning faces. He could hear their laughter. Felt their hands taking away his weapons and searching through his pockets. They found McGlashan’s phone and took it.

And Boonzie’s final thought before the world went black was that he hadn’t called Mirella.

Chapter 27

On his return from Inverness around ten-thirty that morning, Ben stopped off at the Gunn cottage for a bite to eat, to inspect his purchases and phone Boonzie’s wife.

Mirella had still heard nothing, and she sounded as if she was falling apart from worry, grief and lack of sleep. She was sobbing bitterly when she picked up the phone, and the tears barely stopped flowing during the three minutes they spoke. From the beginning he sensed from her tone that something had changed. He was right.

‘It’s not that I don’t trust you, Ben. I wouldn’t have asked for your help otherwise. But—’

‘But?’ Ben guessed what was coming next.