CHAPTER 25 Escape to America
Jock was in his room at the hotel in Prestwick, and getting ready for bed, when there was a knock at the door. When he opened it, he found Captain Roy Steele and his co-pilot Joe Rice. They gave him a uniform and told him to be ready at four o’clock next morning, as a taxi would be taking them to Prestwick Airport. They did not want to know how his trip had been but, from reading the newspapers and watching the television, they had drawn their own conclusions. Jock immediately paid his hotel bill and tried on the uniform which, surprisingly, was a perfect fit. Maybe I should have joined the RAF instead of the Scots Guards mused Jock, as he stood in front of the mirror.
At four
o’clock the following morning, he got into the taxi with the two pilots and was
told to say nothing but to look sheepish and crestfallen as he went through
security. The whole terminal was deserted at such an early hour and, as they
approached security, Roy began to reprimand Jock on a serious breach of
etiquette, while Joe presented three cards to be stamped. The security guard
stamped the cards with the minimum of security, more intent on having a
conversation with Joe.
“You’re leaving early this morning,” he commented, “Any special reason?”
“As soon as we land in the States, we’re off to Florida with the
wives for two weeks of golf and deep-sea fishing for marlin,” replied Joe in a
very confidential manner.
“Lucky
devils,” came the reply, “I’m lucky if I get a brown trout over a pound in
weight in the River Weir and you’re fishing for these monsters. Best of luck,
let me know how you get on.”
“Sure will,”
acknowledged Joe as he waved goodbye, putting the cards in his breast pocket.
“That was
easily done,” said Roy as they clambered into the aircraft. “Just make yourself
comfortable in the back there and use the tarpaulin and cardboard boxes to keep
yourself warm.”
The flight
was uneventful and Jock slept for most of the journey. The aircraft landed at
Kennedy Airport, New York and it taxied to the Campbell Holding depot so that
its cargo of IBM computer hardware and spare parts could be distributed.
With an
apparently carefree attitude, Jock walked with the two pilots into the main
office of the building, where he was met by Doug Campbell and Max. Both men
shook his hand and were obviously delighted to see him. When the three of them
were alone, Jock gave a detailed account of all that had taken place. Both men
were in awe of his exploits and expressed their admiration and promise of
strict secrecy, vowing that they would tell no-one, not even their wives, and
would never discuss it ever again.
Doug gave
Jock an envelope containing a large amount of money in used American dollars. He
made him promise that, after he had finished his long walk, he would fly from
Florida to Dallas and come to his house where he would work with him and Max
for a few weeks. He also returned to Jock his large rucksack and contents, with
several days of fresh rations.
Later that
day, they flew down to Damascus, Virginia where Jock bade farewell to Doug and
Max before continuing on the long-distance route. His grief had considerably
lessened now that the poison of revenge had been satiated. As each day passed,
he met fellow walkers who were astounded by the mileage he was covering every
day.
Back in Glasgow, Detective Superintendent John Blincow was
involved in a meeting with City of Glasgow detectives and members of the
Serious Crime Squad. Their enquiries about the shootings in Glasgow and Angus
had proved fruitless and they still had no idea who was responsible for the
crimes they were investigating. It was decided that they would telephone the
FBI in America to check that Jock Stewart was actually doing the walk. However,
the FBI reported that although they had no reported sightings of Jock, everyone
who was interviewed said that he was doing it.
An extensive search of flights, ferries and shipping lines could
find no entry of Jock Stewart returning to the UK, which seemed to prove that
it couldn’t have been him. When the FBI were contacted, they were amazed that
they were being asked to monitor the entire two thousand miles of the
Appalachian Way, when the subject of the search was suspected of being in
Scotland, shooting notorious criminals and disrupting drug gangs. Reluctantly,
they decided to co-operate and forward any information or sightings of Jock
Stewart.
Meanwhile,
the private detective George Young was in silent admiration of what was
happening amongst the criminal fraternity in Glasgow. He knew who was
responsible for everything but was quite adamant that he would remain silent
and keep the information to himself. For thirty years, he had pitted his wits
against crime in Glasgow with only moderate success. Now Jock Stewart had come
along and, like an avenging angel, had wreaked havoc on these criminals. To
celebrate, he decided that he would take a month’s holiday in the Highlands and
enjoy some fishing, golfing and hill-walking.
After six weeks, Jock’s long walk was over and he took the bus to
Miami where he flew to Dallas and booked into a hotel near the airport. As
arranged, he was contacted by a representative of Campbell Holdings and a
private flight was arranged to take him out to Doug Campbell’s residence.
On his
arrival there, Jock was given a warm welcome by Doug, Beth, Max and Amy. The
first two weeks, he spent felling trees and splitting firewood for both
households. Max drove a tractor and trailer and collected the split firewood,
stacking it under cover at both households until all the firewood sheds were
full. Some days, Jock and Max went hunting deer and were usually successful.
Jock also went fishing with Doug and Max, so the larders and freezers in each
household were well-stocked for the coming winter. Each Sunday he went to
church with Doug and Beth, stirring up some curiosity amongst the local
congregation as to his identity. The last three weeks were spent building two
huge polytunnels as Doug had decided to take an interest in producing vegetables
and fruit in his retirement.
In the
mornings and evenings, Jock went running, swimming and did some circuit
training, much to the admiration of his hosts.
After five
weeks, he said his farewells and Beth and Amy were in tears. As he shook hands
with Max and Doug, he was told to call at the office of Campbell Holdings in
Dallas and speak to the head accountant who had been instructed to pay Mary
Stewart’s insurance into Jock’s bank account. In order to do that, he required
Jock’s signature.
Sitting in
the plane as it flew towards Dallas, Jock was in a very reflective mood, remembering
how he had met the Campbells all these years ago and how their friendship had
developed. As soon as the plane landed, he made his way to the office of
Campbell Holdings and, after he had signed all the necessary documents, was
flabbergasted at the amount of money that was deposited in his account.
Returning to the airport, he was pleased to find that there was a
flight going to Christchurch, New Zealand in six hours’ time and that seats
were available on it. He bought a ticket, had a meal, a power nap and a walk
around the concourse of the airport before boarding the flight.
Back in
Scotland, Bill Tennant, the youth leader of the Brunswick Boys Club in
Springburn, Glasgow sat on a bus with his under-fourteen and under-seventeen
football teams and their respective team managers, coaches and a few parents.
They were returning from a football tournament in northern Spain and he was
feeling proud of what they had achieved. Not only had they won both tournaments
but they had been voted the best-behaved teams, on and off the park, by the
organisers. He could not wait to inform the staff of the Glasgow Area Union of
Youth clubs of their success.
All of this has been down to Tommy Arthur mused Bill Tennant. He
may be a big-time gangster but he had never forgotten his neighbourhood and
made a lot of donations to youth clubs in the area. In fact, Tommy Arthur had
provided this top-of-the-range coach, plus free fuel, new team football strips,
blazers, shirts, flannels and club ties for all the boys and officials. The
coach was driven by one of his men, Dennis, a typical Glasgow hard man.
It was when
they arrived in Spain for the tournament that they had learned about the
shootings in Glasgow. Bill had been greatly upset by this as he had known Tommy
Arthur since boyhood. This would most certainly be the last trip to Spain for
any youth club now, he thought, and they would sadly miss going. Clubs had been
going two or three times a year to Spain to play football. His thoughts were
interrupted by a police car, flashing its blue lights and indicating to them to
pull over into Hamilton motorway services, just a few miles from Glasgow.
Surely we are not getting a police escort into Glasgow, thought Bill.
The bus came to a stop in the coach area of the car park, where
several police cars and vans were waiting. Everyone was told to leave the bus
and a sniffer dog began to search the vehicle. The dog became excited in the
luggage hold underneath the bus. The suitcases and the wicker baskets
containing the football strips and balls were all removed and, from a hidden
compartment, about twenty large boxes were found. When opened, high quality
drugs were found.
Dennis, who was standing next to Bill, whispered,” Don’t panic,
but I think I’ve been grassed. I’ll take all the blame for this and get a
holiday at her Majesty’s expense.”
When
questioned, Bill protested his innocence and denied all knowledge of the hidden
cargo. He was astounded to learn that the street value of the drugs was almost
a hundred million pounds. He was even more annoyed when he and his party had to
make their way back to Glasgow by public transport.
Detective
Superintendent John Blincow was back in Glasgow at the Police Headquarters in
Pitt Street. He was chairing another meeting to see if any progress had been
made in solving the three shooting incidents, but all enquiries still proved
negative. He was sure that Jock Stewart had the motive and the capability but
how could he enter and leave the country without being recognised? Or were the
shootings carried out by some drug cartel from Italy or Russia? Was the bombing
at Glen Feshie the work of the IRA?
After he
spoke at the meeting about his thoughts on the matter, he gave a brief
description of Jock Stewart’s life in the Scots Guards and Special Forces. Jock
had an impeccable record, especially during the Falkland’s War, in which he was
decorated for bravery. There was also his police commendation in Windsor for
helping the local force, his legendary status in the Kingussie Shinty team, his
epic survival of a snowstorm in the Cairngorms, his assault on four gang
members who were armed with weapons and firearms, defeating them with a piece
of wood and then of course, the tragic death of his wife and daughter in the
bomb blast at Glen Feshie.
A member of the Serious Crime Squad told of having met Jock
Stewart at Achlean and how impressed he was with the lifestyle he had made for
himself at the croft, as well as the care and effort that he had put into
making it such a desirable place to live and work.