by Robert White
Within fifteen yards we passed Rick who sauntered innocently toward the point as her relief. I saw him glance at her. He saw the blood and injuries.
I pushed all thoughts of revenge to the back of my mind. It wasn’t a movie. Job first.
Once I was sure we were in the clear I caught up with her, took her arm and led her the remaining few yards to our car.
As we had been on a collection job I’d packed some field dressings and morphine in a medic bag, together with a few smaller bandages some antiseptic and some codeine.
The second she sat in the back of the Jeep, I started to work on her injuries. From the light available she had suffered a two-inch gash just below her left eye, a seriously broken nose and a few other scrapes around her forehead, elbows and knees. Her feet were bleeding and swollen. By the way she was holding herself she had a ribcage problem too. Hopefully not a break.
I dabbed the wound on her cheek with solution and taped it closed. Neither of us had spoken. Her breathing was raspy, her nose pushed horribly to the left. I did my best to keep the mood light.
“I need to sort out your nose straight away, sweetheart. Or you’ll be as ugly as me before the week is out.”
She coughed and nodded and I saw the tiniest smile. She knew exactly what I meant. As an experienced casualty nurse Lauren would have reset many a broken hooter in her day. It had nothing to do with aesthetics, she needed to breath. She knew how painful it would be too.
I took a syringe from my pack. “I’ll give you a wee shot, babe, you won’t feel a thing.”
She shook her head violently and grabbed me by the wrist with surprising strength.
“No, Des! Don’t do that.”
I ignored her protests, I knew best.
She gripped even harder. “Please…Des…don’t.”
I was getting a tad fed up arguing the toss, like, when she dragged her SLP from behind her back and she stuck the fucker under my chin.
“Don’t be ridiculous, Lauren! Look at the fuckin’ state of ye! I’ll bet you’ve some busted ribs too.”
“I’ve not!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I fuckin’ do.”
“How?”
“I just do, none of your bloody business, now just set my nose and let’s get moving.”
It was getting stupid.
“Look, take the fuckin’ gun from under ma chin. Ye no gonna shoot me. I know that, you know that.”
I grabbed the pistol and put it on the seat next to her.
“I’m sorry, love, but this job is over for you. Simple as. You look like a fuckin’ war zone. Once Stephan and Susan start to move, we think they’ll lead us to Gibraltar and Charlie Williamson. You won’t even make it through customs looking like that. You can get the next flight…”
Lauren punched me so hard that I fell backward, out of the open rear door and onto the cobbles. I sat rubbing my jaw in total disbelief.
Lauren’s voice was low and measured.
“I’ll get into Gib the same way you will, with the weapons. I’ll swim the last mile from Jimmy’s boat.”
She took a breath through her open mouth.
“Now fix my fucking nose.”
Rick Fuller's Story:
The sun was about to make its presence felt and the birds were in full swing as Susan made her appearance at the door of the apartment. I felt the hairs on my neck do a little dance. Then I had a full on flashback of the sickening kick Stephan gave to Tanya’s dead body as Susan talked on the phone feet away.
She was tanned, fit and wore a navy crop top, cream linen trousers and gold sandals. I thought I’d seen the trousers in Moschino. The shoes were definitely Jimmy Choo. Her hair was tied back in a casual ponytail and I wondered if she’d had extensions. She had large Gucci sunglasses propped on her head.
Any man could see, she was stunningly beautiful, but still had that look, the one she had the very first time I saw her at Davies’s house. The one that told all around that she was mildly pissed off about something. Well this time she had plenty to be pissed about and I was going to make sure her day got even worse.
Seconds later Stephan hobbled out behind her looking pale but very much alive, and I had to grit my teeth and stop myself from slotting him there and then. That, of course, was not in the arrangement.
The new plan, and we were really on the hoof, was a simple one. Convinced that Stephan would need hospital treatment and equally sure that daddy would have contacts in Gib that could organise that on a ‘no questions asked’ basis, we, well I, planned to tail our two friends to the Rock by road whilst Des, Lauren, Jimmy and our weapons made the trip by boat. In the preceding couple of hours Des had fixed Lauren up and from what he’d said, she was doing okay. She looked like she’d gone ten rounds with Tyson, but she was functioning. She even said she was fit enough to make the mile or so swim to the shore to avoid the prying eyes of the British border guards so I figured she must be okay.
Banus taxis are used to ferrying beautiful women with damaged faces around the town. Old habits die hard for the Burberry tattooed twats society. They had caught a taxi to the hotel, recovered what we needed, swung by the Jeep, collected our armoury, and were at the harbour waiting for Jimmy.
I flipped open my phone and dialled.
“We have movement.”
Within minutes Jimmy had dropped off his point and was on his way to his meet with Des. I was sitting in the Cherokee, thirty yards back, watching Stephan struggle to get into Susan’s Lotus Elise. I had expected some support or muscle to come to their rescue, but there was none. Well, not that I could see.
The pair took the highway and headed for the most protected piece of rock in Europe.
For the first time in ten years I felt close to my goal. So close I could taste it. The one singular thing that had kept me alive was the thought that one day I would come face to face with the man responsible for the treachery that led to the murder of my wife. Now I knew I had the chance to avenge that betrayal. I would make Williamson pay for his crime. As for Goldsmith, well he would know the pain of loss. He would feel the agony of bereavement as I had.
I hit the button to open the electric roof and let in the fragrant Spanish air, pushed Jimmy’s iPod into the docking station and selected shuffle. Then I sat back whilst Floyd played Comfortably Numb, and enjoyed the ride.
As you approach Gibraltar the scenery gets less and less picturesque. The Spanish seem to want the whole of the area to look shabby. Compare Puerto Banus with the streets surrounding the entrance to the Rock and you can see the Spanish message to the British.
Go home.
I was five cars behind Susan’s Lotus. I was so confident they were headed to Gib I even allowed them out of sight for some of the journey.
The entrance to the colony is bizarre. You have thirty-five degrees of sun and British coppers in full uniform checking passports, searching vehicles and being generally suspicious of all visitors. They work out of buildings not much better than Nissan huts. On the way out it is worse. Try escaping the Rock with more than two litres of Scotch and be prepared for a very rough ride.
For all the coppers and security, they let a full IRA Active Service Unit in there back in the day, but I suppose you know what happened then.
Once you rode that gauntlet, you drove across the airport runway before crawling into town. Pretty it wasn’t, it’s more like Clapham than the Costas, but I wasn’t there to see the sights or the apes.
The tail became more difficult as the dozens of mini-buses taking tourists up the Rock darted in and out of the traffic so I stayed well away.
Susan negotiated the narrow streets and headed toward the old army quarters. I dropped even further back. I knew exactly where she was headed. I’d seen the aerial picture of daddy’s house.
I parked the Jeep, stepped into the heat and leant on what remained of a concrete wall. Most or the barracks had been demolished and JCBs lay temporarily idle waiting for the Monday morning builder
s to recommence the new landscape. The Lotus had disappeared through electric gates five h8undred yards ahead, to a place Susan no doubt called home. To my annoyance, an equally impressive residence was near completion next door. Now if I’d been a betting man, I’d have a pound or two on the place being Champagne Charlie Williamson’s summer retreat. I’d also wager that Williamson and company had bought the prime ex-army land at a knockdown price.
I checked the time. It would be twelve hours before dark and the opportunity for Des and the crew to come ashore. I slipped down in the seat of the Lexus and waited. My time would come.
Lauren North's Story:
My nose had just about stopped bleeding and the pain in my ribs had become a dull ache with the large dose of codeine-based drugs Des had made me take. I’d managed some sleep but felt like a herd of buffalo had tap-danced on my body for a laugh. The good news was that the weapons the guys had collected from San Pedro had been carefully secured onto a floatation device that looked something like a cross between a surfboard and a kayak. Des had made sure that it was totally waterproof and stowed the lot into the boat.
This was no ordinary craft either. The boat was a very beautiful Doral Algeria power cruiser that Jimmy was preparing for sea.
It reminded me of the boats I’d seen at the beginning of Miami Vice; all white leather, chrome and muscle. It had everything you could imagine and more. Two fabulous bedrooms, one with en suite shower, hi-fi, DVD and HD plasma TV; a dining room for four guests and a captain; a cocktail bar, and all pushed through the waves as fast as you like by two powerful diesel engines. They burbled away as Jimmy entered coordinates into the state of the art navigation system and I checked what was left of my face in the bathroom mirror.
I took off my sunglasses and had a little moment.
If Jane could see me now; six strips of tape held together a cut beneath my left eye and I just knew my next dentist bill would be enormous. I had the beginnings of two fabulous black eyes and my nose? Well, Des had done his best with it.
The sun was just about to dip beneath the horizon and we were about to make way. I slipped out of the bathroom and was met in the cabin by our captain.
“Do you like to s…sail, Lauren?” asked Jimmy as he tapped away at the touch screen display.
I sat myself in a white swivel chair wide enough for two and figured the boat was made for the US market.
“I’ve only ever been on a ferry from Liverpool to Dublin, Jimmy. I don’t think that counts.”
Jimmy looked at me and I felt that shiver again. His dark eyes questioning my very existence. It was if he didn’t really believe anything I said to him, or I wasn’t part of his idea of an assault team. I noticed a nerve pulse under his left eye. Was he nervous? I’d never seen nerves in Des or Rick before.
I changed the subject. “What’s the name of the boat, Jimmy?”
It sounded all girly and I regretted opening my mouth instantly. I really hadn’t noticed a name as I’d gingerly clambered aboard but I knew the model because I’d flicked through the brochure that was right in front of me on the polished walnut drinks table. She, as I gathered they called all boats, was obviously brand new and very fucking expensive.
Des stepped in, broke my thoughts and answered my question.
“Irish Eyes,” he chirped with a smile that eased the mood. “Why’d you call her that, Jimmy?”
Jimmy shrugged. He still looked uncomfortable to me. Beads of sweat on his shaved head ran down his temple and neck and along the tattoo that snaked down his body. The evening air was cool. He wiped the sweat from his face before he spoke.
“You know what Shakespeare said, Des, ‘What’s in a name?’”
“Aye, true.” Des looked at the navigation panel that was as big as my television back home in Leeds. “How long to the Gibraltar coastline then?”
Jimmy punched in the last of the information and stowed the map he’d been using. “Two hours and four minutes, Des. Spot…spot on like. Just like a plane, this baby, autopilot and everything.”
He motioned to the front of the forty-seven-foot craft. “That’s as soon as you let go the moorings.”
Des did a mock sailor’s salute and grinned at his old mate. “Aye aye, Captain Jim! Castin’ off now! ”
Des Cogan's Story:
We’d been at sea for about an hour. The night sky was a perfect blanket of stars as we left all ambient light on the coast. Jimmy had let the autopilot do all the work and rather than steering, had been telling old war stories to Lauren, keeping the mood light.
I hadn’t heard from Rick since he landed on plot and I was feeling a little uneasy. I checked my watch again. He was forty minutes shy of his proposed contact.
Jimmy broke off from his tales of Sudanese adventures, and looked at his own watch.
“Waiting for Rick to call, Des?”
I nodded, casual but worried. “Yeah, he’s late.”
It was a life-changing experience for me. In all my years as a soldier, I had never been betrayed by my own.
With the speed of a cheetah Jimmy pulled a Glock from under his shirt and pointed it at me.
I’d never felt so deserted. In an instant I knew. Someone I considered a friend, someone I had fought alongside, who had shared the things only people like us could possibly share, was about to turn into a traitor. For the first time, I really knew what Rick had gone through the last ten years.
I felt sick with anger.
Jimmy, of course, read my face.
“Don’t be so upset, Des. We all make mis…mistakes at our age. Were you really going to go up against Colonel Williamson with just two guys and a fuckin’ nurse?”
Lauren sat to his right. He trained the gun on her. She was obviously too close for even a mere nurse and he motioned to her to sit next to me. Tight together and easy to manage, I’d have done the same. She used her arms to lift herself from the bucket seat and winced in pain as she did so. Seconds later I felt her next to me. I couldn’t take my eyes from the man who was supposed to be my friend. Finally I glanced at Lauren. She looked pale in the moonlight, her swollen features exaggerated in the shadows. What was I thinking? I questioned my own judgement, bringing along an injured woman on such a dangerous job was just crazy.
Jimmy was feeling good though.
“You see this boat, Des?”
Jimmy spread his arms. Boastful, gloating.
“This boat is worth over seven hundred thousand dollars and is one of three I own. Own, Des! No fuckin’ mortgage or l…loan involved here. I own them. I have two s…sailing boats too. They would fetch a million dollars each today if I wanted to sell.”
He pulled himself together and aimed at me.
“Colonel Williamson gave me a chance, Des. He sent me to school to learn to talk good. He paid for that. Before, all I was good for was fighting. He gave me a chance. Look at all this!”
Lauren’s voice was flat calm. “A chance to sell drugs, Jimmy?”
Jimmy moved the Glock the few inches he needed to get a perfect headshot on her. He shook his head violently, the sweat poured from him.
“Mr. Williamson and Mr. Goldsmith are Europe’s only defence against drugs! They take care of the biggest dealers. They are the balance. They do what the police and MI5 can’t do.”
I couldn’t stay quiet.
“That’s what they told you, Jimmy? Did they tell you about the women and kids they killed at a graveside in Manchester? Innocents, Jimmy? I saw a kid, no more than six or seven with his fuckin’ legs blown off, Jimmy. Is that the kind of people you work for now?”
He changed his stance and I looked down the barrel again, his eyes tearful, trying to focused on me. His whole body shook. I’d never seen the man look so flustered.
“Casualties of war, Des, you should know about those. We’ve seen enough of them. It happens in all c…conflicts. It don’t matter, Des. I’m sorry, mate, but in twenty minutes we are meeting another boat. They’re taking you to the ‘Centre.’ Rick will be there
by now. Mr. Williamson wants a chat with you all.”
He gave a nervous laugh and wiped his face again.
I was curious.
“The Centre?”
Jimmy nodded. Sweat dripped from his nose. “Yeah. The house where Rick was headed is just another piece of real estate the boss has ordered built. He bought the all the derelict MOD land available on Gibraltar a couple of years back, but he also bought an old secret military bunker in the Rock itself; used to be a military hospital. That’s the business end of the operation. It’s a fortress, Des, and it’s where you are both going.”
I heard the crack of two 9mm rounds and saw as they hit Jimmy square in the chest. He looked surprised until a third shot slapped his head back against the boat canopy.
Lauren flicked the safety back onto Stefan’s SIG. I’d forgotten she still had it and so, obviously, had Jimmy.
“I think we need the weapons out now, mate, don’t you?”
Rick Fuller's Story:
Cathy was digging the garden. The ground was still hard from the winter chill. She forced her spade into the frosted earth with her foot so it would give way and allow her to turn it, to fill it with oxygen and make it ready for the new glorious life of spring.
Two men walked casually through the garden gate.
One spoke.
“Good morning, Mrs Fuller. And where might your husband be at this moment?”
Without thought, she threw her spade in his direction, a tragic attempt at protection. She ran for the house, knowing who they were.
As she reached the door the first bullets found her. Her legs gave way. She couldn’t breathe. A huge weight had fallen upon her. It crushed her ribs whilst other searing pokers tore at her flesh second after second. From somewhere she found one last breath, her pale arm raised as she lay dying.
“Riiiiiiiiiick!”
“Rick?”
