The Edinburgh Network – Betrayal, Love and Ancient Power
By Lea von Löwenstein
Chapter 4: Threads Unraveling
Part 1: Edinburgh Arrival
Sunday, February 16th, 2025
Edinburgh Airport, 14:35 local time
The Scottish winter wind cut through Jenny’s coat as she exited Edinburgh Airport, her conference bag holding more secrets than academic materials. Mark’s goodbye at Heathrow had been a masterclass in devoted fiancé behaviour – right down to the “surprise” gift of a new laptop bag.
“Perfect for networking,” he’d said, his kiss perfectly calculated for public display. The bag, now thoroughly swept for tracking devices by Catherine’s team during her London layover, sat innocently beside her.
Her official conference hotel room was booked and monitored. Her actual accommodation – a safe house in the historic district – waited with Catherine’s Edinburgh team. Two parallel lives, just like the man who’d taught her how to create them.
Her phone chirped with Mark’s expected check-in text: “Landed safely, darling? Can’t wait to hear about the opening reception tonight.”
The reception she’d never attend, but would appear to through carefully crafted digital footprints.
“Just landed!” she replied, watching the delivery confirmation that she knew he monitored. “Hotel shuttle waiting. So excited!”
Jenny’s steps faltered as she spotted the information desk at the airport terminal. A young woman with a bright smile was helping travelers, her red scarf perfectly matching the airport’s corporate colors. Too perfectly.
The pattern clicked into place – the same technique Mark had used with Tony at Mae’s Diner. Plant someone who looks like they belong, someone whose position provides perfect surveillance coverage.
Her librarian’s mind flashed back to Haven House briefings. Sarah’s voice: “He places watchers in information points. Help desks. Reception areas. Places where they can track movements without suspicion.”
Jenny adjusted her route, remembering Catherine’s training. Never break stride. Never show recognition. File the information and maintain course.
Her phone buzzed with another text from Mark: “Don’t forget to check in at the information desk – they have welcome packets for conference attendees.”
Of course. He’d arranged it all in advance.
She typed back with calculated enthusiasm: “Thanks for the tip! Always thinking of everything!”
Instead of approaching the desk, she joined a tourist group heading for the taxi rank. Catherine’s voice in her memory: “Use crowds as cover. Let others collect the packets. Every deviation must appear accidental.”
The grey suit caught her attention first. Perfectly tailored, perfectly bland, perfectly positioned to appear random. He matched the airport crowd while maintaining clear sightlines to her position – another signature from Mark’s playbook.
Jenny kept her pace steady, her heart drumming against her ribs as she wove through the terminal. The tourist group provided cover, but she could feel his presence shifting in her periphery. Always there, always watching.
Her phone buzzed – Mark again: “Hope you’re not getting lost in the terminal, darling. Terminal 2 can be confusing!”
He knew exactly where she was.
The grey suit was joined by another – brown leather jacket, Edinburgh University lanyard. They were herding her, she realized, directing her path subtly toward the information desk with its red-scarfed watcher.
Catherine’s training kicked in. “Never run. Never hide. Change course naturally.”
She diverted toward a coffee shop, letting a family with luggage trolleys separate her from her shadows. The grey suit adjusted, brown jacket circled wide.
Her pulse quickened as she spotted their pattern – standard surveillance triangulation. They were closing the net, coordinating through seemingly casual gestures.
The exit doors gleamed ahead, salvation in reinforced glass. Jenny calculated her trajectory, timing her approach with a surge of deplaning passengers.
Just three more steps…
The impact caught her completely off-guard. Solid, warm, human. Her conference bag slipped, papers scattering across the terminal floor as she collided with a tall figure stepping through the doors.
“I’m so terribly sorry,” a deep voice with a Scottish lilt caught her elbow, steadying her. “Let me help you with those.”
Part 2: The Unexpected Ally
“They’re watching you, aren’t they?” The Scottish voice dropped to barely a whisper as he helped gather her scattered papers. His movements were casual, unhurried, but his grey eyes held sharp intelligence as they flickered toward her shadows.
Jenny’s hands trembled slightly as she reached for her conference schedule – the false one, created by Catherine’s team. The stranger’s large frame shielded her from direct view as the grey suit and brown jacket hovered at the edges of her vision.
“I’m Detective Inspector MacLean,” he murmured, stacking papers with deliberate slowness. “And those two have been following you since baggage claim. Professional job, too.”
Her pulse quickened, but Catherine’s training held. Never confirm. Never deny. Never trust unexpected interventions.
“I don’t…” she began, but he shook his head minutely.
“Your reaction to them was too practiced,” he continued softly, helping her to her feet. “And they’re too good to be common harassers. Financial Crimes Division has been watching similar patterns at Edinburgh conferences lately.”
The terminal’s ambient noise covered their conversation as he guided her toward the taxi rank, his badge discreetly visible beneath his coat.
“The question is,” he handed her the last of her papers, “are you running from them, or working with them?”
The grey suit made his first mistake – a too-sudden movement as a new group of passengers emerged from customs. MacLean’s eyes narrowed at the break in their professional pattern.
“Interesting,” he murmured, subtly positioning himself between Jenny and her watchers. “They’re not local. Too rigid for our usual surveillance teams. Private sector, I’d wager.”
Jenny maintained her confused tourist facade, but her mind raced. The detective’s observations matched Catherine’s briefing about Mark’s preferred contractors – ex-military precision without local flexibility.
“Three similar cases in the past month,” MacLean continued, guiding her toward the taxi rank with casual authority. “Professional women arriving for archive and banking conferences. Each one with shadows. Each one connected to a series of… interesting data breaches.”
The brown jacket had disappeared entirely – a concerning deviation from standard procedure. Jenny’s training from Haven House screamed warning signals.
“The last one,” MacLean’s voice dropped lower, “was an archivist from the Bank of England. Never made it to her hotel. Turned up three days later with no memory of the conference and her security clearance compromised.”
A chill ran through Jenny that had nothing to do with the Scottish winter. The pattern was bigger than they’d thought.
“Your watchers,” he nodded subtly toward the grey suit, now speaking urgently into what appeared to be a coffee cup, “they’re not just surveillance. They’re collection teams.”
MacLean’s hand rested lightly on her elbow as they approached the taxi rank, his casual stance belying his alert presence. The grey suit had vanished, which Jenny knew was more concerning than his presence.
“Right then,” MacLean’s Scottish burr softened further. “I’ve got a secure vehicle waiting. Not marked – we’ve learned to be discreet with these cases. If you’ll trust me?”
Jenny hesitated, Catherine’s warnings about unexpected interventions warring with her instincts about the detective. His next words decided her.
“Your watchers,” he murmured, “they’re using the same protocols we documented in the Standard Life Bank case last month. Same approach we saw at the Royal Museum archives. I’m heading the task force on information theft rings targeting cultural and financial institutions.”
He produced a warrant card with practiced subtlety. “We can protect you. Already have a safe house set up near the Royal Mile – walking distance to your conference, but off their known surveillance routes.”
The grey suit reappeared at the terminal doors, now accompanied by two others in casual business wear. Their formation was textbook Mark – a triangulation pattern designed to herd targets.
“Decide quickly,” MacLean’s voice held quiet urgency. “My team’s already in position, but we need to move before their backup arrives.”
Part 3: Terminal Velocity
15:50, Edinburgh Airport Terminal 2
Everything happened at once. The grey suit’s team surged forward, their casual facade dropping as they moved with military precision. MacLean’s hand tightened on Jenny’s elbow as he smoothly changed direction.
“Side exit,” he murmured, guiding her past a coffee kiosk. “My team’s got the perimeter.”
Jenny clutched her conference bag, her heart thundering as they wove through crowds of tourists. Mark’s training had taught her to watch for pursuit patterns – now she used that knowledge to evade them.
“Down,” MacLean ordered softly as they passed under a departure board. Perfect timing – the pursuers’ sightlines blocked by a passing tour group with oversized luggage.
The grey suit’s voice carried over the terminal noise: “Target moving west. Corridor seven. Backup required.”
They slipped through a service door, MacLean’s warrant card granting instant access. The fluorescent-lit corridor stretched ahead, their footsteps echoing on industrial tiles.
“They’ll expect us to take the service exit,” MacLean’s voice remained steady as they moved. “So we won’t.”
A crash behind them – the service door flying open. The chase was on.
A cleaning trolley blocked the narrow corridor ahead, two workers in airport uniforms methodically mopping the floor. MacLean’s stride didn’t falter as they approached.
“Excuse me, loves,” he called out in a perfect London accent, completely different from his earlier Scottish burr. “Health and Safety inspection. Need immediate access.”
Jenny’s heart nearly stopped as one worker looked up – and she caught the briefest flash of recognition. The woman’s face was unfamiliar, but her movements… the same practiced efficiency she’d seen at Haven House.
Catherine’s network. Had to be.
The workers moved their trolley with practiced clumsiness, creating a temporary barrier behind Jenny and MacLean just as their pursuers rounded the corner.
“Terribly sorry,” the second worker called out, her mop water “accidentally” spilling across the corridor floor. “Bit of a mess here!”
The pursuing footsteps faltered, forced to slow on the suddenly slick surface.
“Left here,” MacLean guided Jenny through a maintenance door. “Your friends are quite well-connected.”
“My friends?” Jenny kept her voice neutral, even as relief flooded through her.
“Let’s just say,” MacLean’s Scottish accent returned as they emerged into a vehicle service tunnel, “Catherine sends her regards.”
“Eight-person team,” MacLean assessed as they moved swiftly through the service tunnel. “Grey suit and brown jacket were just spotters. The real extraction team was waiting in arrivals.”
The tunnel’s emergency lights cast strange shadows as they moved. Jenny’s training from Haven House helped her recognize the full tactical pattern now unfolding behind them.
“Professional contractors,” MacLean continued, checking his phone briefly. “Ex-military, likely Eastern European based on their movement protocols. They’re not here to follow – they’re here to acquire.”
Jenny’s mind raced through the implications. “How many teams?”
“Three at the airport,” he replied, his Scottish burr mixing with tactical precision. “Two more at the conference hotel. One at each alternative accommodation within a mile radius. They weren’t just expecting you…”
“They were expecting me to run,” Jenny finished, remembering Mark’s meticulous planning. “Standard containment protocol.”
“Exactly. But they weren’t expecting…” MacLean paused at a service exit, checking something on his phone. “…the combined resources of Edinburgh Financial Crimes, Catherine’s security network, and…”
A sleek black car pulled up outside the exit, its driver a familiar face from Haven House.
“…and a rather motivated group of women who are quite tired of being hunted.”
