Slowly the Soviet S-2 submarine surfaced into the moonless midnight off of Dornoch Firth in Northern Scotland. S-2, at darkened-ship, was essentially invisible to anyone beyond a few hundred yards. A hatch forward of the conning tower opened and out climbed a shadow darker than the night. Barely discernible, even with eyes accustomed to the darkness, the figure stepped off of the deck and plunged into the sea.
One hour later the figure emerged on the sandy shore near the A9 bridge over the firth. The man took his time removing the dry suit he wore revealing carefully chosen clothing designed to mark him a common man, rough woolen pants and shirt, covered by a handmade wool pull-over sweater, watch cap, and very worn boots. The man found a piece of driftwood and buried the dry suit close to the waterline so when the tide came back in, the evidence of his excavation would be obliterated.
The man walked along the sand towards the town of Tain, avoiding the A9. Eventually, he found himself at the Glenmorangie Distillery and walked up into the compound where a man stood next to a Crossley Atlas lorry.
“Took ya long enough! Benny! Yer, lucky the night watchman is easily bribed here. Ever since we was wee bairns you were late.” Jamey Hudgens jerked his thumb to the lorry as if to say get in, and turned to walk around to the driver’s side. But, before he could move an Ottoman Janbiya appeared in Benny’s hand and Jamey’s head toppled from his neck and fell to the ground next to the front right tire of the lorry.
“Sorry, Jamey. MI5 will just have to find another rat to do their biddin’! But, thanks for the lorry, Mate!” He squatted next to the body of his childhood friend and wiped his Janbiya on his clothes and slid it back into a very non-ceremonial sheath under his sweater and whispered, “Alluah Akbar.” Standing up Sturmbannfuhrer Benjamin MacBeth spat on the dead informer’s severed head. “I may be late me boy, but ya be deid! Thanks for not making more of a fuss. I’ve an appointment with a seaplane to keep…if’n ya don’t mind.”
Benny climbed into the lorry and quickly drove from the distillery and onto the A9 headed for Tain, where he turned towards the ocean and a rendezvous at Loch Eye. As the lorry trundled down the highway, Benny continued reciting the words in his head, over and over. “The King must die, Long live the King.” Five minutes after leaving the distillery Macbeth slowed along the eastern edge of Loch Eye as if looking for something…or someone. Eventually, two men dressed similarly to Macbeth stepped out of the brush near the outlet into Burn Arboll, carrying large and heavy duffel’s. The two men quickly deposited the duffel bags into the lorry. They made two more trips into the brush until the back of the lorry was half filled. Once that was accomplished the two men climbed into the back and quickly made beds for themselves as Macbeth drove off and proceeded to return to the A9.
Neither Salah Kahn or Hilal Cady had made the effort to sit up front with Macbeth as they had made his acquaintance in Germany and wanted nothing to do with the man. They were content to sleep in the back and would be happy when they would link up with their brother Bosniaks already performing reconnaissance on their target. These men were accomplished Nazeri assassins but wanted nothing to do with whatever it was that lived behind the eyes of the man driving the lorry.