“Good thinking, buddy. Satnav might be unreliable as we head north.”
I scan his face to see if he might be bluffing but, clearly, he didn’t provide the map. His response seems genuine and I answer simply.
“I had the same thought.”
Lucky for us, the map soon comes in handy when the satellite signal drops in and out and finally dies, along with all radio station signals. We drive through Applecross at seven-thirty in the morning, descending into the isolated fishing village as a thick mist rolls in from the sea. The land around this remote part of Scotland is wild and rugged, and the driving is slow, down narrow single lanes. Coleman’s electric SUV is a workhorse and handles the roads well. The tiny coastal town of Applecross flashes past, a single row of old fishing cottages keeping watch over the brooding grey ocean, which is lost in fog and more like a threat this morning. Within barely a few breaths, we are past the pub in the centre of the village and out the other side.
The well-maintained lane we are following for the next few miles ends at the ruins of a farmhouse, and from there becomesa bumpy dirt track undulating through barren land bordered on both sides by crumbling dry stone walling. Even the road map does not show the route. At one point, the lane begins to climb steeply, and I am sure I feel the SUV’s wheels lose traction on the muddy surface. I turn to Coleman and notice he is frowning.
“Do we need to park up and to walk?” I ask.
“Not yet,” he says, shaking his head. “This baby’s designed for off-road. We don’t walk unless we have no choice.”
Each hill gets progressively steeper, but his car manages to tackle them. Eventually, we reach a plateau where a river on the far side runs into a large open body of water. I check and find the remote location on the map dotted with walking tracks but no roads. As we circumnavigate the loch, a feeling of déjà vu surfaces, the sight eliciting an innate shiver at the chill waters.
“I know this place. I’ve been here before,” I mutter. “I’ve swum in that loch. Many times. We are not far from wherever we’re heading. I can feel it.”
We don’t have to go much farther. When we struggle up and crest the next rise, tall, barbed-wire-topped fencing held in place by solid wooden posts crosses the landscape in the distance. We drive up to metal gates blocking the lane, displaying weather-worn but still legible red-and-white signs with a simple warning: MOD Property— Keep Out. The gates are secured by heavy chains and secured by three bulky padlocks. Beyond the gate, the lane that heads onwards is strewn with weeds, and there’s also an old puddle-filled set of tyre tracks. In front of the gates, ample room has been carved out for errant drivers to manoeuvre a three-point-turn and head back the way they came.
Coleman brings the car to a halt on one side.
“Okay, buddy. Now we walk.”
I nod and begin to climb out, grateful to stretch my legs and breathe in the fresh air. I perch my backside against the side of the car and wait for Coleman, who comes to stand next to me.I wonder why he has his phone out, clicking photos of the gates and the surrounding countryside.
“Romano suggested I do this. You want evidence, don’t you?” he says, and I shrug in response.
I don’t need to examine the gates to know they are impassable without keys to the padlocks. Instead, I survey the landscape, hoping flashes of memory might return.
“Aren’t we conspicuous parked out here?” asks Coleman, peering around.
“Where else is there? It’s all exposed ground. If anyone was keeping a lookout, they’d have spotted us by now.”
“Fair point. Any idea how the hell we are going to get in? I might have some bolt cutters in the back of the car. Do you want me to check?”
“No point. These padlocks are seriously heavy-duty, and the chains are industrial. You’ll only end up breaking your cutters.”
“Shit. Any suggestions, then? We could try burrowing under a fence, but someone told me your military has been known to lay mines around perimeter fences. Might be a crock, but I don’t care to risk losing a limb to prove them wrong.”
I take a few steps back and check the fence line to the right. Fog is lifting in my brain. Memories are coming back. I have entered through this gate before, but this is not the only way in.
“What else do you have in the back?”
“The usual. Car jack, screwdrivers, hammer, pliers, box cutter.”
“A torch?”
“Sure.”
“Good. Go and fetch that, and if you have a penknife, that might come in handy.”
“Nothing else?”
“No.”
Coleman returns shortly after, holding out the two items to me. He also sports a small backpack that he tells me has helpful items like water, snacks and waterproofs in case we are going to be out for some time. The penknife is a solid, multipurpose Swiss Army knife, while the torch is a heavy-duty rubber one. Out of habit, I check to confirm there’s a solid beam. I notice Coleman digging into his rucksack for something.
“Do you want this?”