Underdogs

by Jack Fiske

“That’s awful!” she exclaimed as she saw the size of the lump above his ear. “They could have cracked your skull open.”

  “True,” Jim agreed, “but to be fair, Trent didn’t know whether I was one of the London gang or not.”

  Marion muttered something about what she’d like to do to them in return and disappeared upstairs to the bathroom in search of something for him to put on the bruising.

  “Here, rub some of this into it,” she instructed, when she returned, handing a small jar of cream to Jim.

  Jim looked at it dubiously. “Marion, I’m o.k. really. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”

  “That’s good, but put some on anyway. It’s only Arnica. It’ll bring out the bruising and take some of the swelling away.”

  Jim resignedly took a dab of the cream on his finger and massaged it into the lump on his head. The area was actually very tender, so maybe Marion was right and it would do it some good.

  Wolf watched from under the table, giving him a dog grin, as if amused to see him being told what to do. Jim put a hand down and quickly wiped the remains of the cream off his finger and onto Wolf’s nose. Wolf lifted a paw, rubbed at it once, and then as if in revenge, wiped his nose down Jim’s trousers, leaving a dark greasy mark behind.

  Marion laughed. “Serves you right. That dog’s more intelligent than you think.”

  Jim smiled. It was stupid the things that could keep your spirits up at a time like this.

  The rest of the evening, or what was left of it, they spent sitting in the living room discussing their next move. Stephen and Marion both agreed that they could do without the involvement of O’Hara and MI5 at this stage. Particularly as all three were hoping, perhaps a little over-optimistically, that the kidnappers would release Susan and Millie when they had what they thought was the K2 unit. On the other hand, it was reassuring to know they were no longer alone and they had the support of the authorities behind them.

  Jim brought the brown envelope downstairs and passed round the information that O’Hara had given him.

  The typewritten sheets were brief, but quite informative. There was some background on Walker and Quinn, who were both known to the authorities. Quinn had served time in prison on more than one occasion, but not in recent years, which seemed to coincide with the time that he had started working for Walker. By contrast, Walker had been to court only once and had been acquitted of all the charges that had been laid against him. To Jim that suggested Walker was either very careful, used other people to do his dirty work, or had enough money to hire the very best lawyers if he did run into trouble. The third sheet, which gave information on the Arab, was particularly brief. Mohammed Musa was a Syrian national living in Saudi Arabia, whose job was listed as ‘Travel Consultant’. There was no photograph of him, although a brief description said he was approximately forty-five to fifty years old, height 5’10” and weighed between 180 and 200 pounds. Very little was known about him, other than the fact that he belonged to an organisation whose name had been scored out with a black marker pen so that it was no longer legible.

  Marion finished the last of the three sheets and put it back in the envelope, which lay on the coffee table between them.

  “What I don’t understand is, if they know the people involved, why haven’t they arrested them or done something to stop them?”

  “That’s easier said than done,” Jim said. “They might know that these three are behind it, but without solid proof they can’t arrest any of them. If they did, a solicitor would have them out again in next to no time. Anyway, it seems from this that they haven’t known their whereabouts for at least the last 4 weeks.”

  “What are we going to do with this?” Stephen asked, picking up the GPS tracker device.

  Jim took it from him. “I’ve been thinking about that. I don’t think we should use it. If MI5 and O’Hara can track the kidnappers, they’ll wait until the fake K2 unit is back at their base and then move in with everything they’ve got. That way, they’ll hope to get most of the gang and with a little luck, to recover the hardware as well. What worries me are the kidnappers’ threats of the consequences if we involve the police. After all, there’s no guarantee that the electronics would be taken back to the same place that Susan and Millie are being held.”

  “I agree,” Stephen said with a frown, “but what’s the alternative?”

  “Well, we could let O’Hara see the fake unit with Archie Long’s tracker device in it. I’m sure he’d be satisfied that it was the same black cylinder in there that he’d given me.”

  Jim passed the tracking device from one hand to the other. “I’m sure I could arrange some diversion using this one when the time comes to make the exchange. In that way, we can track the kidnappers’ movements, but not have O’Hara’s team going in with all guns blazing. If Susan and Millie do get released, we can tell them about the second tracker and let them follow it up without our involvement.”

  “And if they’re not released?”

  “If not, then at least we’re still in control of the situation.”

  Marion looked worried. “O’Hara and his side will be really angry with us won’t they? Didn’t he threaten you with what would happen if you didn’t co operate?”

  Jim nodded thoughtfully. “True. I’ll just have to come up with something plausible to explain why their tracker device stops working after the exchange. Anyway, let me work on that. I’m sure I can come up with something.”

  While they talked, Stephen’s dog Sandy had been pacing restlessly around the room and now, having decided he’d been patient enough, he went to stand in front of Stephen, staring at him expectantly.

  Stephen checked his watch. “Sandy thinks it’s time to go to bed. I’ll just need to take him out to spend a penny. Do you want me to take Wolf as well?”

  “I’ll come with you,” Jim said, getting to his feet. “It’s about time I turned in anyway. There’s nothing else we can do until the kidnappers phone in the morning.”

  Both dogs were used to going out before everyone went to bed and the familiar routine only took a few minutes, despite the fact that Wolf insisted on sniffing most of the rough ground at the end of the garden before he found somewhere suitable to cock his leg.

  As they came back in and locked the door behind them, the sound of Jim’s phone could be heard from the kitchen, where he’d left it in his jacket pocket. Jim rushed through and picked up the call before it diverted to his voicemail.

  “Hello?”

  “Jim? Hi, it’s Archie. I’m sorry, I haven’t had a chance to get back to you before now.”

  Jim breathed a sigh of relief that it was him.

  “Archie, thanks for phoning back. Give me a minute will you.”

  He put his hand over the mouthpiece and turned to Stephen. “It’s Archie Long. You go up and I’ll come and let you know what he has to say before I turn in.”

  Stephen nodded and ushered the two dogs upstairs in front of him, whilst Jim took a seat at the kitchen table.

  “God Archie, it’s good to hear a friendly voice. I could really do with a second opinion on what’s been going on today.”

  “

  Me too,” Archie replied. “I’ve got some news from my end, but you go first . . . .”

  SEVEN

  Early on Monday morning a battered, white, Ford Escort van pulled into the courtyard at Henson’s Farm and two men got out. Both were dressed in blue denim jeans, scruffy work shirts and heavy boots that were splashed with mud and traces of dried concrete. Gary Clarke was the younger of the two at twenty-five. Spencer, the driver of the van, was only a few years older, but looked as if he was in his mid thirties, possibly due to the fact that he smoked heavily and had a noticeable beer-belly, which hung over the thick leather belt that he wore.

  Clarke walked to the back of the van and opened the rear doors.

  “Get mine as well would you,” Spencer asked.

  In the back there were two sports bags, thrown on top of an assortment
of tools and equipment, none of which looked as if it had ever been looked after properly. Clarke picked up the bags and handed one to Spencer as they climbed the short flight of concrete steps to the farmhouse.

  “Better knock I suppose,” Clarke said and hammered on the door.

  Whilst they waited for an answer, Spencer glanced round the yard, mentally summing up the work that would be needed to convert the building from its present use to an up-market property that could be sold on for profit.

  “It needs a lot of work,” he commented. “The whole place is crumbling away.”

  “Not our problem is it,” Clarke replied. “We’ll only be here for a few days until Mr Walker sorts out this business with the woman and the girl. By the time the crew arrive we’ll be long gone.”

  There was a sound of footsteps from within and the door was opened by Ronnie Dunn, dressed even at this early hour in shirt and tie.

  “Oh, it’s you two. You must have made good time on the road?”

  “Yeah, traffic’s pretty light,” Spencer agreed. “Mind you we left pretty early. Don’t suppose there’s any chance of breakfast is there?”

  Spencer was well aware that Dunn, an ex army chef, always did the catering and could usually be relied upon for a cooked breakfast, or at the very least a bacon and fried egg roll.

  “Sorry lads. Only toast and cereal this morning. Dump your bags upstairs then you can help yourselves. I’ll let Mr Walker know you’re here. He’ll want one of you to take over from Tony across the yard.”

  “Had any problems with them?” Spencer asked, producing a packet of cigarettes from his shirt pocket and offering one to Dunn.

  Dunn took the cigarette and waited for Spencer to finish lighting his, before taking the lighter from him. “No, they’ve been quiet so far. Mind you, they’ve only been here since last night. They’re probably still in shock.”

  Spencer took a long drag on his cigarette. “So how long do you reckon we’ll be here then?”

  “Hard to tell,” Dunn said. “Liam reckons it’ll be a nice clean operation. Over and done with in a few days.”

  “How much will the pay-off be?” Clarke asked, more interested in the money than anything else.

  “Come off it Gary. You know better than that. Mr Walker won’t want anyone knowing the detail. He’ll see you right though. You haven’t had any cause for complaint in the past have you?”

  “No, I suppose not,” he agreed. “Just interested, that’s all. This one seems a lot bigger than usual.”

  “Maybe it is and maybe it isn’t,” Dunn said evasively. “Anyway, are you going to stand around gassing or what?”

  “Guess not. What room are we in?”

  “Second floor, first on the right.”

  Clarke and Spencer disappeared upstairs and Dunn filled the kettle for them and switched it on, before going to look for Walker and Quinn. He found them sitting outside on the low stone wall which fronted the building, laughing about something as they finished their coffee.

  “Is that Clarke and Spencer?” Walker asked as he approached.

  “Yes, just arrived,” Dunn confirmed.

  “Good, then we’ll get off.”

  Walker stood and handed his empty cup to Dunn, who waited whilst Quinn drained the rest of his and did the same. It was good that Clarke and Spencer were early. Walker didn’t like waiting around and was known to get into a foul mood if he was. Both men were going up to London for the day to look after some of Walker’s more legitimate business interests and to meet with their contact on this deal. It was only prudent to wait until Clarke and Spencer had arrived. Not that they were expecting trouble from the ‘guests’, but Walker didn’t want to leave with only Dunn and Bryant in the house.

  “Remember you’re in charge Ronnie,” Walker said over his shoulder as he and Quinn went back into the farmhouse. “Stick to the routine we agreed and if you run into any problems, phone us.”

  “Will do Mr Walker.” Dunn followed behind with the empty mugs.

  Dunn wasn’t worried. There wouldn’t be problems, and in any case, Walker had said they expected to be back late that night, or at worst, first thing Tuesday morning.

  Back in the kitchen Clarke and Spencer were going through the cupboards, moving everything around.

  “Oi! What are you up to?” Dunn asked with a note of annoyance in his voice.

  “Where’s the tea and coffee?” Clarke asked.

  “Yeah, and the bread?” said Spencer.

  “Where you’d expect them to be,” Dunn replied with a sigh. “Sit down and I’ll get them. At least there’ll be less mess if I do it.”

  Clarke nodded at Spencer as if to say ‘I told you so’ and both took a seat at the kitchen table, while Dunn found the tea and coffee and two mugs for them.

  “Toast?” Dunn asked.

  “Please,” Spencer replied, offering Dunn another cigarette as a conciliatory gesture, before placing the packet and lighter on the table in front of him.

  Dunn cut several slices of bread and dropped them into the four slice toaster which stood beside the cooker, then put the butter and marmalade on the table for them.

  Quinn put his head round the door. “Right we’re away. Don’t go waiting on these two Ronnie. Get them across the yard to take care of things over there.”

  Spencer flicked his cigarette ash into the ash tray in the middle of the table and looked coolly at Quinn. “Don’t worry, we’ll do our bit. Just give us five minutes to have a bite to eat and we’ll get on with it.”

  Quinn grunted and headed out to the car where Walker was waiting for him. Quinn didn’t have a high opinion of Spencer or of Clarke for that matter, but he supposed they’d do. Dunn was too easy going, but he knew they could rely on him to take care of things.

  As Walker pulled out of the farmyard, Quinn reached behind him for the road atlas that was tucked into the pocket at the back of his seat.

  “What are you doing?” Walker asked.

  “Just looking up the service station.”

  “No need. I know where it is.”

  “How far out of London is it?”

  “About an hour. Maybe a bit longer, depending on traffic.”

  “Bloody stupid place to meet if you ask me,” Quinn muttered.

  Walker shook his head. “No, I disagree. There’ll be plenty of people coming and going. Easy to get to and easy to get away from and we’ll be unlikely to attract much attention. Apart from that, I’d prefer to meet their man in a public place. There’s less chance of them pulling something unexpected on us.”

  Walker had phoned their buyers at the weekend to give them an update and to see if they would be in a position to come up with the money if he could get the rest of the K2 system in the next few days. The Arabs, it seemed, wanted some confirmation that the goods had been obtained before they started moving their funds, so the two had agreed to meet their contact at a motorway service station and let him see for himself that they already had the detector unit. Walker had met Musa twice before, but Quinn hadn’t.

  “Do you think they’d try to cross us?” Quinn asked.

  “No, I don’t think so. Not when they’re expecting to get the rest of the equipment later this week. If we had all of it, I’d want to be more careful. As it is, they’d be doing themselves no favours if they tried to pull a fast one at this stage. I’ve arranged for a couple of the boys to come with us just in case. I take it you’ve come prepared?”

  “As instructed,” Quinn agreed, patting a bulge in his jacket, where a small but adequate semi-automatic nestled in a shoulder holster beneath his arm.

  Walker reached forward to turn the radio on. “You might as well relax for the time being. We’re not meeting Musa until this evening anyway.”

  “What about Reid and Turner?” Quinn asked. “Last night we said that we’d be in touch with them this morning.”

  “Let them stew for a bit,” Walker said. “We’ll give them a ring when we get to London.”

  Quin
n opened his mouth to say something in response, but stopped as Walker lifted a hand in a gesture that said he didn’t want to discuss the matter any further. The hand reached forward to flick through the preset stations on the radio, until Walker found one playing a classical piece.

  Quinn turned to look out of the side window and cursed silently to himself. He hated classical music. He’d just have to keep quiet and put up with it.

  Archie Long looked at his watch as he walked the short distance back to the MI5 building. Still only one-forty-five. Plenty of time to get back to his desk before two. He liked to get out over lunch. It gave him time to think and get some exercise. Today he was preoccupied with thoughts of Jim Turner. The two had known each other for quite some time; in fact since they’d both started in the service together. The dangers of working in Northern Ireland created strong bonds and Archie still thought of Jim as a good friend, despite the fact that they didn’t meet up much now. It was surprising they had become so close. The two were very different. Jim would match up to most people’s idea of the typical army type – tall, fit, excelling in any physical challenge that he was set. Archie was the complete opposite. Only 5’6’’, he was carrying at least a stone overweight and nowadays he only needed half the time to comb his hair that he used to. At forty-one, he wasn’t much older than Jim, but over the years he’d lost a lot of his fitness, largely due to his sedentary life as a desk bound pen pusher. Although never that good at sport, he’d been a keen runner and at one time could run a mile in under four and a half minutes, the one thing that he could beat Jim at. Nowadays he doubted if he could manage that distance in twice as long.

  As he entered the building, Archie nodded at Williams, who manned the desk, and swiped his pass through the card reader which let him through the security door. Ignoring the lifts that were well used at this time of day, he trudged up the stairs to the third floor. It had been about a month now since he’d changed his routine. No more chocolate biscuit with his morning coffee, always taking the stairs instead of the lifts. Fresh air and a walk at lunchtime, while he ate the sandwiches that Harriet made him each morning. These and a few other small things had seen him lose more than half a stone so far and he had to admit that he felt better for it.