Trail of Greed: Fighting Fraud and Corruption... A Dangerous Game (18 page)

The next ridge seemed miles away. I observed that I had passed the night in a rock cleft at the top of a shoulder between two peaks so the first part of my journey would be either flat or descending slightly.

Progress was more of a waddle than a walk and the movement created the added problem of the scratching on my skin. I ploughed on, head down, one foot in front of the other, a glance up every ten paces to check my direction. It was the kind of hell I had never experienced before. I imagined how Napoleon’s soldiers must have felt on their long disastrous march back from Moscow.

Distance can be misleading in the hills. So can horizons. You trudge up to the ridge for an hour or two only to discover that there is hidden ground for another couple of miles before you get to that peak you wanted to climb.

It can also be deceiving on the way down. I trudged on until mid-morning.

It was an enormous struggle not to give up. What was the point of carrying on? I had had a reasonably long life. Sixty-five wasn’t that bad. It had been satisfying. Why not just accept it and go and see Liz? Memories flashed through my head – all jumbled up on top of each other. My eyes wanted to close. I had to force myself to keep them open, not that I could see much as my vision was starting to become blurred. My body was telling my mind that it was suffering and didn’t want to go on. Why not just sit down and rest? I didn’t dare. How the hell would I get up again?

I was hungry. I had a raging thirst. I worked as hard as I could to generate saliva to keep my mouth moist but that was becoming more and more difficult.

It must have been around midday, judging from the height of the sun (thank God there had been no more mist) when the ground suddenly started to fall away. Below me was a wide valley stretching across to the beginnings of the ascent to the next ridge. It looked as if I had about five miles to cross and then a horrendous climb up the other side. Heather and rocks – desolation.

That was the lowest point of my ordeal. I very nearly gave in to it all. Bugger Bill Dewar, bugger Purdy. Just chuck it in. I risked sitting down for a minute or two on a rock and tried to pluck up the courage to carry on.

It was then that I saw the flash. It was only for a second and was far away towards the foothills of the next range. Then I saw it again. But this time it seemed to be further south. And then a third time, even further over to the right.

Suddenly I was alert. There must be a road down there even if I couldn’t see it. That could only have been the sun flashing off the windows of a moving vehicle. Immediately I had hope of rescue.

I sat there for another half hour, continually keeping my legs and arms moving gently so that they would not seize up.

Then I saw the same phenomenon again – something moving flashed twice.

I stood up, groaning at the pains all over my body but light-headed and more positive again. Come on, Bob. You’ve only got to make it down to that road and you’re safe.

“Down to that road” meant three or four miles of heather on blistered feet, picking my way around great chunks of granite and being careful not to find myself in a bog. I could see two areas of bog cotton between me and my target which would have to be circumvented, probably adding another mile onto my journey.

I made it, but God knows how. It took me three hours and when I got to the road I collapsed.

I crawled on hands and knees along the grass verge until I came to a black and white post – one of these posts which help a driver to know how deep the snow is in winter. I had absolutely no idea where I was. I could be in Ross-shire or Sutherland – anywhere in the vast landmass that makes up the Highlands.

I could at least lean against the post, sitting down facing the road. I stretched my legs out in a V in front of me. I had to pray that a vehicle of some sort would come along. I was prepared for a wait as this was a single-track road with passing places – not one which would be likely to have a lot of traffic.

I also had to hope that a driver would see me. I could wave but I certainly couldn’t get up from my sitting position. I wondered about actually lying in the road to stop a car but my brain was still agile enough to tell me that such an option would be dangerous. I was only about fifty yards from a bend and a car could easily come round so fast that they might not see me and stop in time.

All I could manage was to take out my handkerchief and tie it on to the remaining piece of string that I had and throw it out onto the middle of the road. It was white. A driver should see that, I figured.

Totally exhausted, both physically and mentally I prepared to wait. I managed to stay awake for about half an hour then I dozed off.

How long I lay there, dozing, I have no idea, but when I was awakened by a hand on my shoulder it was already heading towards dusk.

“Are you alright mate?” said a soft Highland voice. I opened my eyes to see a kindly and concerned weather-beaten face peering at me.

I tried to answer but could do no more than croak. I had had nothing to drink during my trek down off the mountain and my throat was completely dry. I could only just clutch at his hand and give him a beseeching look.

“Christ, you’re in a mess,” he said. “We’d better get you to some help.”

I could only nod. “Come on then, up you get. Let’s get you in the car.” I could do almost nothing myself. He managed to haul me to my feet and with my legs buckling under me he dragged me to the car. He lent me against the side while he opened the rear door, keeping a hold of me in case I toppled over. I fell any old way onto the back seat. He pushed my legs in after me and closed the door. He then got behind the wheel.

“There’s a hotel at the edge of the village about four miles down the road,” he said as he drove off. “I know Mrs MacDonald who owns it. She’ll take you in, I’m sure.”

I tried to thank him but could only manage a rough rasping noise.

When we arrived getting me out of the car proved more difficult than getting me in. “Hold on a minute,” he said. “I’ll be back.” True to his word he was back in a couple of minutes accompanied by a woman who turned out to be the aforesaid Mrs MacDonald.

She looked at me, at first with horror, and then with concern.

“Right, Jim, you take one arm and I’ll get the other. We’ve got to get this poor man inside.”

They manipulated me out of the car and lent me across the bonnet. Jim undid the strings around my ankles and did his best to get rid of all my insulation. I was vaguely aware of Mrs MacDonald undoing the front and the sleeve of my shirt for the same purpose. They then hiked me across to the front door of the hotel and inside, leaving scatterings of heather in my wake. Once inside, I was carefully lowered into an armchair in the reception area and they both stood back to look at me properly.

I hate to think what I looked like but Mrs MacDonald was up to the task. I made signs with my hands that what I needed desperately was something to drink. I was also shivering with the cold and the shock of my ordeal.

“Jim, there’s a blanket in that cupboard over there. You get it round him while I get him a cup of tea.”

I did manage to convert my rasping voice into a semblance of the word “whisky” which Jim immediately understood. He nipped into the bar and came back with the life-saving nectar and helped me to take a sip, before my cup of tea arrived.

“Take your time,” said Mrs MacDonald “Get your strength back. Whatever happened to you you’re safe now.”

I tried to smile but that was almost beyond me as well. “Can I leave him with you, Maggie?” asked Jim. “I need to be getting back. Or is there anything more I can do?”

“Don’t worry,” she said. “I’ll look after him. I’ve got no one here tonight and I’ll get the doctor to him in the morning.”

I tried to thank Jim by means of signs and he left. I continued to sit there taking alternate sips of whisky and tea until at last my mouth moistened up and I was more or less able to speak. During this time Maggie sat opposite me. I was now able to take her in properly. She looked about fifty. She had neat short black hair and a kind sympathetic face. Her nice comfortable-looking figure was clad in a tartan shirt and a pair of black trousers. Her whole demeanour radiated competence.

Her brown eyes smiled at me and I managed a halfhearted smile in return. I told her how sorry I was to put her to all this bother.

“It’s not a problem,” she said. “What you need is a bath and a good night’s sleep. We’ll phone the doctor tomorrow. Do you want anything to eat?”

“No thanks, but another cup of tea would be wonderful.” My voice box was operating again.

“OK, don’t move. I’ll fix it.” While she was gone I looked around the reception area where I was sitting. It was clearly a small Highland hotel. The board behind the reception desk showed ten hooks, all with keys hanging on them. There were a couple of prints of Highland scenes on the wall, a slightly worn grey carpet, a door half-open leading off to a room where I could just make out a couple of tables and a few chairs – obviously the breakfast room. Whether the hotel ran to evening meals I couldn’t tell. The reception desk had the usual display of tourist brochures and an old-fashioned bell for summoning the management. In front there was a narrow staircase. No lift.

While I finished my second cup of tea I started to realise that my nightmare was over. I was alive and well. I confess that this realisation brought tears to my eyes. No one would ever know how close to death I had been. There had been several occasions up there when I had very nearly given up. I had had to call up all my reserves to keep going and not to simply lie down, curl up in a ball and let nature take its course.

I brushed away the beginning of tears with the back of my hand. Maggie got up and came over to me and put an arm round my shoulders.

“It’s alright. You’re safe now. Come on let’s get you up stairs.”

I nodded dumbly and tried to get up. With Maggie holding one arm and me clutching desperately at the hand rail, we managed to make it up the stairs where she piloted me into the first bedroom we came to and there was the most wonderful sight you could imagine – a large bed with a thick inviting eiderdown. There was a door in the corner through which I could see a bathroom.

“Now you’re not getting into one of my beds in the state you’re in,” said Maggie. “Sit there a minute.”

She went into the bathroom and proceeded to run a bath. The sound of the running water was music to my ears.

“Now let’s get these clothes off you.” I must have looked embarrassed because she went on. “No need to worry. You won’t be the first man I’ve seen naked and there’s no way you can take a bath on your own.”

She then proceeded to help me get undressed in a perfectly matter-of-fact way which quickly dispelled any sense of embarrassment. “God, look at the state of your hands – not just your hands but the rest of you,” she said.

I looked down. My feet were blistered and bloody. My hands were lacerated and the rest of my body was scratched from the heather which was now strewn all over the floor.

“Come on, in you get,” she said in a kindly voice. “You can tell me tomorrow what happened to you.”

With her help I lowered myself gingerly into the warm water, gave a great sigh and lay back with my eyes closed. The next thing I was aware of was a pair of gentle hands carefully soaping my body. Maggie’s hands glided smoothly over me rubbing in the soap.

She then let the water run out so that she could attack the rest of me which had been under the surface. She didn’t miss a corner. It was the most relaxing feeling I had had in a long time. I abandoned myself to her ministrations and said nothing. I didn’t move a muscle. Even “him down there” was beyond reacting.

She then turned on the shower head that was attached to the taps and, after testing the temperature, she showered the soap off me, helped me out and dabbed me dry with a large soft towel.

I did nothing, said nothing. She was totally in charge. She helped me across to the bed and said, “Sorry I don’t have any pyjamas for you but you should be warm enough.”

I gratefully slid in under the covers, totally exhausted from my ordeal.

“Maggie, I don’t know how to thank you.” “We’ll worry about that in the morning,” she said. She looked at me kindly and thoughtfully. “Is there anything else you need?” “Not really,” I replied. I was half propped on the pillow looking up at the ceiling. My mind was coming to terms with my escape. It was running round in circles. I knew that, despite my exhaustion, it wasn’t going to be easy to get to sleep.

She was sitting down on the end of the bed. She leant forward and patted the back of my hand.

“I’ll leave the door open. Just shout if you need anything.”

And she got up, switched off the light and left the room. I lay there in the dark, thanking God that I had got back to civilization and vowing revenge on bloody Bill Dewar. But it didn’t take long for the effects of the warm bath, cleanliness, exhaustion and feeling safe to lull me to sleep.

Soon I was dreaming. It was a while since I had dreamed of Liz, but somehow she was there. We were lying on a rug in a grassy field. It was a warm sunny afternoon. I was frightened and exhausted from running away from someone. Liz was smiling and holding out her arms to me. I rolled over into her arms and she pulled my face down and pressed it to her breasts. The warmth, the softness, the smell soothed away my fear. Soon I was calm and warm. I tried to murmur my appreciation.

“Shhh!” she said. “Just go to sleep. They’ve gone. You’re safe now.”

I felt her wrap me up in her body and I slid off into sleep.

I was awakened the next morning by the noise of the door opening and Maggie came in bearing a tray.

“Good morning,” she said breezily. “I’ve brought you some breakfast if you’re up to it.”

It took me a few minutes to register where I was. Two days ago I had been in my garden weeding the rose beds. Now I was lying in a strange bed – somewhere. Then the drastic events of the last two days came back to me. Coming to in the middle of wild mountains. My night out in the cold. My struggle back to the road.