Bruce continued, “Looks like Ciara came through for us.” With that Bruce opened the laptop that was positioned between them and powered it up. After a few clicks, a video began playing. It showed a visibly fearful Philip Norton in the bed under the duvet. Bruce knew that under the covers his hands were tied.
Ciara’s voice could be heard assertively asking questions with Norton responding.
(Ciara) “When did you realise what they were truly doing?”
(Norton) “Not for a long time. My job was to check and consult on the procedures for organ transplantation. I naturally presumed that everything was above board. That the donors were voluntarily registered with the approval from the families.”
“And?”
“And, I was left alone—accidentally—with this one ‘donor’. I asked her about herself, you know, that she had done a wonderful thing in donating. It was apparent that she didn’t have a clue what I was talking about. She said she was homeless, and people came for her. After that, I did some digging.”
“And?”
“It’s called the Asherson Group—no—Asherson Group Incorporated.”
“We already know about them. You’ll have to give me more than that.”
“I…I was told that I’d be meeting the man behind the project in a few days’ time for discussions. That they were expanding and needed my help. I think they know I know. I think they trust me not to say anything. I…I think they think I agree with it all, but I don’t…I have not been sleeping,…more than that, its only for my wife and kids that I don’t swallow pills and have done with it.”
Bruce paused the video and Connor asked, “How did she pull that off?”
“That’s a whole another video. The point is, is that we have a name—The Asherson Group—a huge conglomerate that turns over ‘wrath of God’ money.”
“Alright.”
“And now we have an ‘agent’, a mole. We are not sure if it’s a single man inside the company or if the whole company is complicit— there are five directors—and we need to be sure before we start raising our hands to people.”
“They must all be complicit surely? Surely one man, or even two, couldn’t hide something like this from the rest?”
“Not necessarily. Within a lot of these huge multinationals, the left-hand doesn’t know what the right and is doing. Besides, would you dare float that idea to others?”
“Why the fuck would wealthy white-collar men do this? I can understand some cut-throat Moroccan or Eastern European doing this, but a multinational?”
“You’ll learn in time. It’s not just about money—it’s about power. And what says ‘superiority’ more than deciding who lives and who dies.”
Adam Lloyd paced around the holding room. He’d tried his brother several times for an update. Lloyd never had the mobile in his cell; he didn’t want to have to deal with the disciplinary officer talking to him like a cunt before reprimanding him, should it be discovered on a random inspection. The turnover of prison staff was too high to keep track of everybody’s motives. Lloyd had one of the correctional officers he had bribed, bring one to his cell and stand watch.
He knew that the newly recruited officers earned £17,000 per year as a starting wage before increasing to £22,000 over a five year period. Overworked, stuck inside the prison, having to deal with all sorts of abuse, it was easy to put them in his pocket. To give them £17000 for arranging private visits, bringing in phones and other contraband was a minor inconvenience to him. A young guard would be stupid to turn down a year’s wages in exchange for a few favours.
His younger brother answered with a terse, “Yes.”
“Where the fack have you been ya cunt? Been trying for ages.”
“Watch how you’re talking to me. I have businesses to run, the same businesses that keep you in solicitors and your family in clothes.”
“You ungrateful little cant, you forget all the things I have done for ya.”
“I haven’t forgotten. But I’ve paid you back and then some.”
“Last time you saw me, you said all debts would be paid after you sorted that thing for me. Unless you’ve lost your honour as well as your balls.”
“I have business interests with that thing. It’s a no go.”
“I don’t fackin’ Adam and Eve it. You have business interests with those fackin’ monkeys down the South-East while I’ve been in ‘ere doin’ my bird? What the fack is going on in ya swede?”
“Don’t speak to me like that Adam.”
“Fack off,” said Adam before ending the call. He stood breathing deeply for a moment or two.
“Come in ‘ere,” he barked. The guard came rushing in. Lloyd handed him the phone. “Go on, piss off.”
He stalked around his cell for a few moments, working out what to do—that little cant thinks I have to rely on him. We’ll see about that.
43
“I have a problem, and I was told you’re the man to come to,” Bruce said.
He stood in what looked to be a combination of a workshop and an IT suite. There was a long workbench skirting the entire outside wall of the fifteen by nine-foot room. On it, was an array of tools both large and intricate, vices and a Perspex box with holes covered in dissected rubber on either side. Towards the back of the room were two large screens and a computer system. The kettle and assortment of biscuits in the corner prevented the place from feeling sterile.
It would be less than two days before Philip Norton would have his meeting with his masters. They needed to be ready.
The appearance of the man stood before Bruce, contrasted to what he would have expected from a post graduate with a plethora of degrees in various sectors of electronic and mechanical engineering.
Ben Shaw’s height almost matched Bruce’s own. The slabs of muscle stretched the sleeves and back of the t-shirt, with his gut gently pushing against the bottom of it. Tattoos and hair covered the gargantuan arms, and the rough black beard ran counter to the neatly side-parted hair.
The rough and deep voice sounded, “And I suppose our Filipino friend recommended me?”
Bruce couldn’t place the accent, other than it had a north-western English tinge to it.
“Our Peruvian friend,” said Bruce.
Shaw stuck out his hand. “Ah, just checking. You must be the one. Heard some frankly legendary tales. Thought you’d be bigger.”
Bruce smiled. “Aye, I was thinking the same about you. You must be the smallest electronics engineer I know.”
Shaw laughed. “Yep, I get that a lot. A tech who competes in strongman. Provides a balance so to speak.”
“I can’t place your accent,” said Bruce.
“Army brat. My dad was in the KINGS, so we moved around a lot,” replied Shaw. The KINGS being an abbreviation of The King’s Regiment.
“Did’nae fancy the military life yourself?” asked Bruce.
“Nah, not for me,” said Shaw. “What can I do for you?”
“A gentleman—a civilian—will be meeting with a person or persons, that I have as of yet to identify but need to.”
“If you want this civilian wired for sight and sound then a meeting between you and I wasn’t necessary.”
“Ordinarily I’d agree. But the people we’re going against are—or at least part of—a billion dollar multi-national corporation, and they have an enterprise that they would do anything to keep secret, to say the least.”
“I see. So you need the best.”
“Exactly. They seem to trust this guy—they have no reason not to as yet, but I am expecting his phone, watch, and wallet to be confiscated, and for him to be frisked. Other than that, I can’t predict what kind of anti-bugging they may have in place.”
Shaw remained silent for a few moments. “There was something I was working on. Is the guy you’re sending in married?”
“Yes, he is.”
Shaw opened one of the drawers, and after a few moments of rooting around he pulled out a ring.
�
�From what you’re telling me, I can’t give you visual. The amount of components needed would be too many. This, however, will give you audio,” said Shaw, as he held up the ring for Bruce’s inspection. The inside of the ring was grooved out and in its place was a tiny wire. There was a micro hole punched into the lip of it where one end of the wire fitted. Shaw continued, “I have worked in a dampening parameter to catch the electromagnetic waves before the retardation parameter changes the phase velocities of the waves.”
“Was I meant to understand all that?”
“No. I meant that it should defeat any anti-bugging measures they have.”
“This been tested?”
“In preliminary trials. I haven’t pushed it out for field testing yet. Maybe your man will be our guinea pig?”
“Doesn’t look like we’ll have a choice,” said Bruce. “Is it possible for us to listen in, in real-time?”
“I am afraid not. For the signal to remain undetectable, it has to have a very low signature meaning it has to be ‘wrapped’. And the unwrapping after I’ve received it will take hours.”
Bruce nodded; there was little point in a stand-by team if there was no way to ascertain if Norton was immediately compromised or not.
“Can you alter the size of the ring? I need it to look like it’s welded to his finger, so they aren’t attempted to remove it.”
“I have rings of a range of sizes. You can take them all and see which is suitable. Fitting the wire is easy as you can see,” said Shaw, demonstrating.
“Well thank you, Mr Shaw. I can see why Jamie refers to you as the ‘Jamie’ of the electronic and mechanical engineering game.”
“The man’s talent is as large as his narcissism,” Shaw smiled. “And please, call me Ben.”
The two men shook hands.
The SSE Arena sat serenely on the water of the Clarendon docks. Inside the Belfast stadium sat Tris Dixon amongst the 9,000 screaming ice hockey fans.
The Elite Ice Hockey League was now on the rise, and that was without the future changes that Dixon knew was about to come into fruition. He had pitched the planned modifications to a confederate of super-rich American and Canadian businessmen who had moved their areas of operations to the UK. The two top teams of the EIHL season were now to play in the Champions Hockey League, the biggest tournament in Europe. The confederate now planned to inject a tremendous amount of cash into both the advertising, stadium building and the poaching of National Hockey League players from over ‘the pond’. Dixon knew a worthy investment when he saw one.
A few years after the Newcastle Vipers had folded, Dixon had petitioned several businessmen for the funds. This was not only to build ‘Newcastle Ice’, a facility purely for Ice Skating near the city centre, but also the city’s new ice hockey team, the Newcastle Blades. Dixon, in the beginning, had maintained a fifty-one percent controlling share in both the team and the stadium. Also, he began buying back more of his stake with the revenue made from the public use of the rink. He drafted in experienced NHL players who were coming to the tail end of their careers, as well as a few of the ex-Vipers players. He also began to implement youth training.
After an aggressive advertising campaign, and with the team doing well, the city got behind the team, and the ticket revenues began to increase allowing him to increase his stake to eighty-five percent.
For the first time in a long time, Dixon felt something akin to a pure pride. He’d built this legitimately from the ground up. He watched the rabid Newcastle fans who had made the journey to Northern Ireland, as their team took a grip on the hard-fought game with the Giants.
Dixon flinched at the voice behind him. “Bet there’s been no cheap shots while that Jones has been on the ice.”
He looked up at Connor Reed. He refrained from asking why he was here and how he found him. “No there hasn’t. Other teams seem to behave themselves when he’s around.”
They were referring the Blades 250lb enforcer Sean Jones. Enforcers were there to ensure no one on the opposing side cheap-shotted the team’s star scorers. Reputably, Wayne Gretzky, considered by many to be the best hockey player ever, refused to be traded to the Kings from the Oilers, without his ‘bodyguard’ Marty McSorley. Dixon had approached the ex-professional heavyweight boxer Jones with a proposition; apply himself 100% to ice hockey training, become the team’s enforcer, and Dixon would pay him above and beyond his hockey talent. He knew that Jones had pulled in thousands of screaming Geordies to his fights as a boxer—and would do so again in his hockey career.
Connor said, “It’s a pity they’re behaving. The excitement in the crowd feels different when there’s a scrap to when there’s goal.”
“Agreed,” answered Dixon. “So what can I do for you.”
Dixon flinched again when Connor reached inside his jacket.
Connor paused momentarily. “What did you think I was going to do?” he said as he pulled out a folder.
Dixon didn’t answer. Instead, he reached out for it.
“Some possibles, let me know what you think,” said Connor.
Dixon flicked through the folder. “All these are in Westminster?”
“Yeah, it’s a hotspot for the homeless.”
“As well as being riddled with CCTV.”
“Homeless people gravitate towards cities. And there’s no city in the UK doesn’t have CCTV. Besides, I haven’t got the means to surveil, and then kidnap four people from four areas without giving up my control of the situation.”
Dixon nodded. “I’ll give you an answer in a few days.”
“Of course, take your time. I doubt those lot are going anywhere for a while.”
“How’s our other area of operations?”
“Good,” said Connor. “Just awaiting another shipment shortly. Our helicopter man escaped what could have been a nasty experience.”
Dixon’s heart skipped a beat. “How so?”
“Three two-bit hit men attempted to ambush him. Luckily, he discovered the surveillance and we, what’s the word,—thwarted—their efforts.”
Is he fucking with me?—thought Dixon looking at him—Then again, I brought it up.
“Why did they attack him?” asked Dixon.
“Fuck knows. He’s made a lot of enemies down his neck of the woods. Now he’s brought the gangs under one banner, he has a sort of monopoly down there, and I am guessing it’s put a lot of the old and bold’s noses out of joint.”
“They might come back for round two,” said Dixon, taking a risk.
“That’ll be difficult. Two have missing kneecaps, and the other doesn’t have the use of his fingers. Should be enough of a warning, you think?” said Connor, looking at Dixon.
Dixon averted his gaze—is he threatening me?
“I think whoever was behind had his reasons, but will have sensed it’s not worth their while,” said Dixon.
“Well, fingers crossed eh. It just gets in the way of business.”
“You staying?” asked Dixon, changing the subject.
The crowd noise ramped up as the Giants pulled ahead.
“Thanks for the offer, but I’ll be heading back. I might be bad luck for you.”
Dixon expected the Yorkshireman elude to the fact that his team was now losing—but he didn’t.
Ciara showed no outward sign of acknowledgement of the car’s slowing as it passed by. Twenty minutes into her run it had been the ninth vehicle to do so. If she had been less self-assured, she might have felt intimidated. However, she knew that the sight of an ass like hers accentuated in these leggings were a rare sight in these Birmingham outskirts.
She cut away onto the woodland and ran harder. She hadn’t kept to her running as much as she should have. Although she extolled the virtues of strength training and realised that the fight sessions might save her life one day, she also knew that a weekly run was important too. She loved the air in her lungs, the scenery, how it cleared her head and made her feel mentally lifted afterwards. She had been feeling a little
strange lately.
When Connor had told her that he was going to Ireland alone to see Dixon, she had felt a worm of unease. He said that the visit had a dual purpose. One being the handover of the folder of mock-up photos and fabricated background reports of the seemingly destitute and homeless ‘candidates’ who were members of The Project. The second was to give Dixon a veiled warning regarding Adam Lloyd’s targeting of Louis. These were ruthless criminals, and Adam was known for his love of a vendetta. Ciara had read that in the early 2000s Adam Lloyd had been an advocate of having his enemies kidnapped before filming their gang rape. The rumour was that the last two rapists carried the HIV virus. Indeed, Nottingham gangsters Tony Whalley and Brian Kelly were allegedly victims and had contracted the disease.
Tris was a more shadowy figure, but she reasoned he would have been at the very least privy to those heinous acts. That said, Connor had a sadistic ruthlessness himself, and she had seen that from their very first meeting. She couldn’t guess that she’d have these sort of feelings towards him after witnessing the satisfaction in his face when he had made his attacker a paraplegic.
She kicked on, angry at herself—angry because her feelings for him were far beyond just enjoying a fuck and banter.
They’d had sex only three times, and she already felt more from him than any relationship based around casual sex she had ever had.
He was good-looking enough and superb in bed, but it had been more than that. It was an underlying warmth he had for people combined with a confidence seemingly unshakeable by whatever got thrown at him. His sense of humour was also refreshing despite how close to the bone it was—maybe, in part, because it was.
And as much as she didn’t like to admit it, she saw a lot of her dad in him—although the memory of her father had faded, despite herself.
She didn’t know if he felt the same way but guessed he didn’t have a long-term girlfriend. She hadn’t heard or seen anything to the contrary. She smiled to herself—Who could he have better than me anyway? She knew she wasn’t imbued with the insecurities of most women. That said, he didn’t fawn over her nor was he cold. He was just himself.
Lessons In Blood Page 25
