“And that got you all upset. We are having this wonderful reception to mark an historic event and you let Kyle Swanson needle you. He was probably saying that just to get under your skin, and he did.” She grinned. “Delara, dear, please make a note to remind me to box Kyle’s ears the next time I see him.”
“Yes, m’lady.”
Pat linked her arm into Sir Jeff’s again and got him moving toward the stone stairs that descended from the wall-walk into the castle courtyard. The first black limos were arriving. “Now smile and prepare to welcome all of these important people to our stately manor.”
3
SCOTLAND
IBRAHIM BILAL WAS FIRST out of the minivan when it pulled off a narrow farm road and into a brush-obscured driveway three miles away from the castle. A few scruffy Highland cattle grazed around him but there was no other sound. He pressed a button on his wristwatch and started the attack countdown and called for the others. “Out! Quickly now. Quickly!”
Four more men dismounted, all wearing insulated smoky branch camo overalls and strong climbing boots and with their faces smeared with NATO camouflage paint sticks. They hauled open the rear doors of the small truck, handed around backpacks and strapped them on. The loads contained only radios, water, some snacks, dry socks and shoes, and a complete change of clothing. Holstered pistols with a single spare clip apiece would be their only personal weapons. Very soon, every ounce would count.
The rest of the cargo was pulled out, then they covered the vehicle with a ten-by-twenty foot mottled mesh camouflage net and branches were used to erase the tire tracks. That done, they helped each other add the new loads, grunting with effort as they distributed several hundred pounds of additional weight among the five of them, using the backpacks to take some of the weight and better balance the loads across their shoulders. “Life isn’t easy,” Bilal joked. “Go now.”