and a pair of dark offices, then reached a set of double doors. They were locked.
He backtracked and entered the first office. A plushly decorated executive retreat, it featured rich paneling, Persian carpets, and a large mahogany desk. Lining the walls were oil portraits of historical female figures, including Cleopatra, Joan of Arc, and Queen Elizabeth I. On the far wall hung a floor-to-ceiling painting of a red-haired woman with an upraised sword, leading a band of warriors in battle against a Roman legion.
The desk was clean and orderly, adorned with a single photo of Evanna McKee at the manor’s entrance with Audrey and Riki. He opened the desk drawer, finding only a calendar that showed upcoming meetings in Paris, Jakarta, and Istanbul. He heard the bass thumping of music and realized he was directly below the dining hall.
He exited the office and poked his head into the next room. Modestly decorated, it was a functional working office with two standard-sized desks, each supporting a desktop computer.
Pitt stepped near one of the desks and noted a stack of binders with the BioRem logo on them. He flipped through the top one and found company profit and loss statements. Another contained shipping transportation quotes.
His fingers froze when he flipped a page and saw a pair of ship photos. The first was a stock photo of a familiar-looking tanker with a black hull and red deck. Pitt held the photo to the light to make out the name on its hull. Mayweather. The second photo was also a tanker, but one Pitt didn’t recognize. He made a mental note of its name. Alexandria.
A turning door handle down the hall gave a metallic click. Pitt replaced the binder and stood against the wall. Through the crack of the half-open door he saw a figure pass through the double doors and enter the adjacent office.
Pitt thought better of hanging around and stepped quietly into the hallway. He made his way to the other end and ducked behind the armaments room. As he crossed to the corner stairwell, he noticed a short set of steps on a side wall that led to a heavy planked door.
He climbed the steps and pulled on the door, which opened onto a small boathouse built flush to the manor’s lakefront façade. A sleek black speedboat floated in the narrow berth, concealed from the lake by a pair of high sliding doors. The boat looked clean and prepped for regular use, its keys dangling from the ignition. Pitt made his way out of the boathouse and up the stairwell to the main level, where he left the manor.
Outside the front door, he passed a female guard, who picked up a phone once Pitt had walked by. As he retrieved his damaged Mini, Pitt noticed two people climb into a dark BMW and start the engine. He exited the gate and turned toward Inverness.
Pitt drove slowly at first, watching in his mirror as the BMW left the manor and followed at a respectable distance.
Pitt toyed with the car, accelerating rapidly, then slowing, smiling to himself as he watched the car follow suit. He drove casually the rest of the way, passing Urquhart Castle and the village of Drumnadrochit before turning down a side road marked with a sign proclaiming MOORINGS.
The road led to the waterfront, where he found a dock mooring a half-dozen small boats. Pitt entered a wood-frame building beside the dock, where he was greeted by a short old woman refilling an urn of coffee.
She eyed him up and down. “You must be the empty-handed Yank looking to acquire some Loch Ness salmon,” she said in a weathered voice.
“I am indeed,” Pitt said with a smile, “though I’d prefer to catch a pike or two.”
“Aye, a sporting man to boot. Sure you don’t want to hire a guide? Most visitors prefer to fish with a local to improve their odds.”
“Today, I’d prefer to let the fish find me.”
She nodded at him with respect. “Usually the better approach. As you requested, I’ve got your boat all ready with a full complement of fishing gear. Here’s some sandwiches and coffee, on the house.” She passed him a small weatherproof bag.
She led him along the dock to a small skiff with an outboard motor. “You know how to handle yourself on the water?”
He smiled. “Since I was a kid.” Pitt pulled the starter rope, and the little outboard fired right up.
“Just be wary of the wind if it starts to pick up,”