Prologue

Prologue

The Tattooed Man

Agnes McGregor raised an eyebrow as she repeated the name.

'Jane Doe?'

The tall woman in front of the reception desk nodded shortly. As she did so, flakes of mud and strands of dry grass fluttered down from her hair and settled on the rug she was standing on. The short, silver haired Agnes watched them float to the ground silently before glancing over the stranger for the umpteenth time that minute. She was a mess. Her white tank top and denim jeans were torn and covered with dirty marks. Her skin showed dozens of thorn scratches and bruises, and goodness knows what else was living in the bush that was currently residing on top of her head.

'And how long will you be staying with us…Miss Doe?' Agnes asked as she noticed the trail of muddy footprints that led to the front door of her bed and breakfast and shuddered.

'Just for tonight,' replied the woman (She was American – that explained a lot, thought Agnes). 'Could you kindly tell me where the nearest town is?'

She seemed to be completely unfazed about her appearance, which Agnes found amazing, considering how she had emerged from the middle of nowhere. She had obviously walked through the thick Scottish undergrowth to get here, though by the state of her hair she looked more like she'd been pulled through it.

'Well, the nearest town is probably Alresford, just north of here. It's about a half hour's walk, or there about. You can get a train there to Glasgow every fifty minutes. At least, you could the last time I ever caught a train.'

Jane Doe didn't seem to be paying much attention. She was busy craning her neck to see into the large, comfortable looking living area, where a blazing fire roared in a large hearth. The big sofas looked incredibly inviting.

Agnes McGregor rang a small, silver bell that rested next to the guest book that had been messily scribbled in by the new guest moments earlier. 'My husband will show you up to your room,' she said, handing over a rusty looking key with a slightly dog-eared leather key ring attached to it. The number 115 was written on it in thick black marker pen. 'Perhaps you would like to use our bathroom facilities too?' she added, hoping it didn't sound too casual.

Jane Doe's eyes lit up. 'That would be heaven,' she breathed.

'Then you'll be needing this to get into it,' replied Agnes, handing over another equally tatty looking but bulkier key. As she did, her elderly husband, Harold, arrived, still half-asleep from the doze he had been awoken from in the back room. His eyes perked up when he saw the newcomer though. He grinned a seedy, toothless grin, and as he spoke a slight trail of drool appeared.

'Good afternoon, miss,' he said in a thicker Scottish accent than his wife's. 'I do hope you find your stay here at the Alresford Bed and Breakfast most comfortable.'

'Thank you,' replied Jane Doe, watching the line of saliva curiously.

Agnes coughed loudly, a disapproving look on her face. 'Harold, take…Miss Doe up to room 115, and then show her where the bathroom is. Then come back down here and put some more logs on the fire.'

'Yes dear' said Harold. He noticed a large rucksack on the ground next to Jane's feet. 'Would you like me to take your bag, Miss?' he asked, already reaching down to grab it.

But the American was quicker than he was. 'No thanks,' she replied, clutching it to her chest. 'It's very heavy, but I can manage.'

Harold shrugged. 'As you wish, lassie. Now, after you, I insist.'

Agnes watched the scene with disgust as her husband used the opportunity of the narrow staircase to get a good ogle at the new guest's shapely bottom. She listened to the footsteps up the creaky stairs and then, when she heard the more than familiar groans of the floorboards over her, she carefully picked up the phone on the desk and pressed the quick dial button followed by the number 5. After one tone, it was answered.

'This is Mrs McGregor speaking. Our guest has arrived.'

Alone at last in the surprisingly spacious, aqua blue bathroom, Catherine Edwards felt she could finally relax. She locked the wooden door so that she wasn't disturbed and then turned on both taps of the bath full blast. Soon a good dose of steam was rising slowly from the rising water. Even now Catherine could feel her muscles beginning to bathe.

It had certainly been a relief to find this place when she had done. The previous two nights had not exactly been comfortable, attempting to nest as high up as she could in the largest, most climbable trees she could find. She had had little sleep; not just because of the discomfort she had been in, but also because of her trained paranoia to keep one eye and both ears open at all times.

This particular asset now informed her of what she had been suspecting for the last minute, for over the rush of water in the tub came the minute creaks of floorboards nearby. The elderly man was peeking through the keyhole, trying to get a good view. Pervert. In response Catherine removed a large towel from the heated rail it had been resting on and, with careful aim, tossed it towards the door. It landed over the thick handle, completely covering over the large keyhole. Catherine could swear she heard a disappointed muttering before the shrill tones of Mrs McGregor came from downstairs, summoning her husband back to his chores. There was the gradual distancing of creaks, then silence.

Content, Catherine moved to her dirty rucksack and began to pull out its contents. To one side, in a special hidden holder, she carefully took out a long knife, the tip of which was stained red. She went over to the basin and using a lot of soap and elbow grease managed to clean the worst of it off, though it would never look as good as it did after it had been professionally cleaned in the workshops back in the States.

Next Catherine looked through the small notepad she had hoped would be fuller by now, and checked the sound on the two tiny microphones and recorders that had been extremely temperamental recently – she would have to get them to look at that as well. It could be the signal had been disrupted by the very large amount of forestation around.

Finally there was the small zipped bag containing two tiny vials, a couple of pills and one plaster. The plaster was for effect, and Catherine had never needed to use it. She hoped that the same could always be said for the other contents too.

Replacing the items back in her bag, Catherine stood up and turned off the taps that were now in danger of causing the tub to overflow. After letting a little water escape down the plug hole, and testing the temperature of the remainder at the same time, Catherine stripped herself of her clothes, pausing before stepping into the temptingly hot water to examine her body in the full length mirror on a stand nearby.

It was a good body – a very good body, as most of her male colleagues had commented – but it was clear that it had taken a few knocks recently from the various vegetation escapades of the previous week.

Satisfied, Catherine got straight into the tub and immediately put her whole head underwater, leaving it for five seconds before surfacing, felling the dirt running down her cheeks in water droplets from her hair. She repeated this several times before feeling under her back for the plug and letting some of the already dirty water out and turning on the taps one last time to replace it.

Now she relaxed more, allowing herself a brief moment to focus on her next steps. Obviously while she was under this roof she would have to act as normal as possible, despite her rather unusual entrance. It had been clear that poor Mrs McGregor hadn't quite known what to say to her when she'd first walked through the front door of the bed and breakfast inn.

Tomorrow she would leave as early as possible, jog to Alresford and make contact with her colleague there, before catching the next train to Glasgow to wait for further instructions. She hoped that the lack of useful information she had found here would be enough to persuade her chief in command to let her come back home, though she found herself surprisingly sorry at the prospect of leaving the beautiful Scottish countryside. Still, there was always the very real possibility of returning when necessary.

There was one solitary window in the bathroom and this was directly behind Catherine now as she sank further into the tub until the water just came up to underneath her bottom lip. This looked out upon the large gravel driveway and car park of the bed and breakfast, where a small number of vehicles were currently parked.

Now through this window came the crunching sound of a heavy vehicle driving over the stones. Catherine's slight curiosity turned to a mixture of annoyance and fear when she heard large door slamming, shouts to a variety of people, running footsteps across the gravel, and what sounded like a couple of dogs barking. She didn't know how, but they had found her.

As she jumped quickly out of the tub, reaching for her sack and the precious knife, Catherine heard large stomping footsteps up the nearby staircase before the bathroom door was ripped open by a very large, very well built man. He wore a string vest and thick green army trousers. His thick bare arms were like a museum of tattoos, all depicting one kind of bloody massacre after another. His face, an ugly, battle-scarred emotionless face, stared at Catherine with typical blank emotion. He was the first person Catherine had expected to see and the last person she wanted to see.

For a brief second both stood looking at each other, waiting for the other to make the first move. Catherine glanced out of the window. Could she make it out of there? No, it was a clear drop onto sharp gravel and the area was now swarming with guards dressed in green uniforms and carrying either pistols or rifles. Catherine wondered what the other guests at the bed and breakfast must have been feeling right now: confused, bewildered?

Catherine took a chance. Grabbing the other towel that rested on the rail next to her, she flung it towards the tattooed man's head and then rushed at him with the knife. But he calmly swept her aside onto the basin and, with one swift chop of the right hand, knocked her out cold. He then slowly removed the towel from his face and dropped it onto the floor before easily picking up the limp, naked body of Catherine Edwards and placing her over his shoulder.

Agnes McGregor watched nervously as the green uniforms began to disappear back into either the small green van or the green jeep, both of which had private number plates. One said REX 1, the other REX 2. The large tattooed man then appeared through the front door, walked straight past Agnes and placed the unconscious body of the American woman into the back of the van. He returned to Agnes and handed her a plain brown envelope, in which Agnes knew from experience rested a very large wad of twenty and fifty pound notes.

'Tell your boss from me: anytime. We're happy to help,' Agnes said.

The tattooed man just stared blankly at her. Then Harold McGregor raced out of the door, clutching something in his left fist and shouting, 'Hang on, lads. Let her have something to wear at least.'

Agnes didn't know whether to be disgusted or amused that, of all the items of clothing Harold had picked up as suitable clothing for the girl, a pair of white knickers was all he was carrying. He walked back to her, grinning wildly.

'Don't want the lassie to catch her death of cold now, do we?' he said as ways of explanation. He turned to the tattooed man. 'We've had a few of your guests stay with us recently. Are we expecting many more?'

Again there was no response. The tattooed man just walked off, towards the open passengers door of the van, which quickly drove off behind its jeep brother, down the gravel driveway and on into the thick forest that surrounded the Alresford bed and breakfast.