by Tom Benson
Phil was nodding and making notes. “Is there anything else?”
“We had a bit of hassle in the derelict before we left, but we handled it.” Rachel gave a brief account of the incident but didn’t highlight Jake’s impotence. “I made sure our bikes were out of sight, and we would be away from the place by the time Cameron or Smith would have reacted to the car alarm.”
Annabel said, “What did you write on the note?”
“I kept it simple,” Rachel said. “It said, ‘YOU ARE BEING WATCHED FROM OVER THE FENCE’. I printed the words as if written by a child. No handwriting trace.”
“Why did you leave a note?” Phil asked.
“The main reason was if we intend to pass information to the police later, I thought it would be useful to have photographic evidence of Cameron and his thug. If either of them came out of the building and went beyond the Jaguar, they’d be on three CCTV cameras.”
“What was the other reason?”
“I thought those two assholes in the derelict would be dragged down to the warehouse for Cameron to talk to. There would be video footage.”
“Clever girl,” Annabel placed a hand on Rachel’s bare thigh, unaware it would have the younger woman trying to figure to which of her superiors she felt more attracted. “You didn’t think about calling an ambulance for the two young guys?”
“I don’t do favours for rapists.”
“Rachel,” Phil said. “I’ve said it before, and I repeat—I’m impressed.”
“Thank you. I’m trying to think like you guys.”
“It’s working.” Annabel laughed.
“One other point,” Rachel said, “and it might sound crazy.”
“If you think it’s relevant, we want to hear it,” Phil said.
“Something strange is going on. The ice-cream vans get their stock elsewhere and go to the warehouse for Mattsani wafers. Apart from which, cartons of wafers shouldn’t be heavy.”
Phil and Annabel listened with renewed interest.
“During our time in the observation post, I played around with the company name, Mattsani.” She looked from one to the other. “Mattsani may sound Italian, like many of the ice cream companies are, but it’s an anagram of Tamasint.”
“You’ve lost me,” Annabel said and turned to Phil.
“Tamasint means something to me.” Phil shook his head. “Jog my memory.”
“It’s a long shot,” Rachel said. “Tamasint is a town in the Rif Mountains, Morocco.”
Phil nodded. “Where the purest cannabis in the world is cultivated—”
“And the greatest production of hashish,” added Rachel.
“If it weren’t for the table between us, I’d kiss you, Rachel,” Phil said.
“Don’t tease.”
Annabel laughed. “I’m sorry,” she said, causing Phil and Rachel to laugh too.
“Bloody well done.” Phil laid a hand on Rachel’s. Phil turned to Annabel. “Okay Alpha. Give us an update, and we’ll work out our next move.”
“First of all, Flannigan is a slime-ball. He talked of his modest house in Cove when I interviewed him. I did a covert visit in my running kit as if I’d run into the driveway by mistake. I had a look around the outside, and the place is anything but modest.”
Rachel said, “Could he identify you from security cameras?”
“No, he wouldn’t recognise me if somebody had taken a series of photographs.” Annabel was confident. “We must check out his boat because the deck is higher than it should be.”
“How did you work out it was higher?” Rachel asked.
“If you take a picture of any Tuna Long Liner, the height of the deck can be estimated by checking the internal panels of the hull. I studied a lot of photographs, and couldn’t find another like his.”
Phil said, “How much difference is there?”
“There’s sufficient for his vessel to have another deck. It might be shallow, but it’s feasible.”
“Okay,” Phil said. “What about the house?”
“Fortress might be too strong a word, but we’d have to deal with the security cameras before going inside.”
“Could we get Jake in if we dealt with the cameras?”
“Yes. I also jogged up the driveway of the house next door, and I surveyed Flannigan’s place from within the branches of a large tree. I spotted a flaw in the camera arrangement.”
“Good work,” Phil said.
“May I ask a question?” Rachel said.
“Go ahead.”
“Were you out running this morning?”
“I run most mornings.”
“I heard a strange report on the news earlier. I was wondering if you drove out to Drumchapel—for your training session.”
Phil’s lips curled, but he didn’t confirm Rachel’s suspicions. “On the subject of Drumchapel, the package I’d like you to deliver is to a house in Fasque Place.”
“Where Jake lives?”
“Yes, it’s addressed to his mother—I’d like it delivered anonymously.”
“I’ll park my bike around the corner. She won’t see me.”
“I’d also like your help tonight with another task. We’ll be using my car, and I’d like you dressed in something dark. I’ll pick you up at 16:00, and we’ll be finishing late, but I’ll be dropping you off.”
“I’ll be ready.”
Annabel said, “Will I be involved tonight?”
“I may have to call you at short notice if it’s okay,” Phil said.
“I’ll remain on standby.”
Phil nodded to Annabel. “I’ve got a couple of jobs Jake will be doing tomorrow, and I want you to be aware of them.” He stood. “If you’ll excuse me, ladies, I’ll pay a visit before we all part company. Too much coffee, I think.”
Before Phil had reached the toilets, Annabel was briefing Rachel on a sensitive task of which Phil had no knowledge. Rachel had the option to refuse.
When Phil returned, Annabel was sitting alone, and Rachel was outside pulling on her leathers. Phil gave Annabel a rapid briefing on Jake’s task but said he didn’t want Jake to be aware of her.
“I’ll have him covered,” she said.
Phil paid the bill for the three of them and went outside. He lifted the padded envelope from the glove-box in his car and handed it to Rachel. It went straight inside her jacket.
“I have the address.” She lifted her helmet. “See you tonight—and don’t be late.” She laughed and pulled on her helmet.
Phil stepped back to the side of his car when Rachel fired up the Norton and steered out, ready to leave. The helmeted figure raised her right forefinger to her visor in her customary salute and nodded to Annabel in the cafe. Five seconds later, Rachel was gone.
Phil watched her go and turned. Annabel was gazing at him, smiling. Phil reversed his car out and mimicked Rachel’s salute before he pulled onto the road.
Annabel watched the Celica drive off and pulled out her phone. She called Arkwright.
At 15:30, Jake and Arkwright finished a tea break and a confidential chat about Jake’s future. It had been a hard day for the trainee. Arkwright was conscious of the brief call he’d received from Annabel, and the pressures Jake was under.
“You may have a couple of special jobs on over the weekend, Jake. You’re welcome to pack up for the day.”
“Thanks,” Jake said. “Thanks for everything.”
“Like I said, it’s up to you. You’re a young fella’. Get stuck in, and give your all to the team for however long.”
They walked toward the back door, where Jake stopped and turned. He held out his hand. “If I decide to finish with the job, I’ll miss you.”
“Yeah, sure you will,” Arkwright said and shook his hand. “Now fuck off—and do me proud, whatever you decide to do.” He paused. “And take care of your mother.”
Jake went out of the back door. He was wearing jeans and his leather jacket instead of full leathers, and he carried his crash helmet in his r
ight hand. He walked across the narrow alley to his bike, but a noise caused him to turn. Rachel was in full leathers, sitting back against her machine, her helmet and gauntlets on the saddle.
“Hi,” Jake said. “What brings you here?”
“I’m on a personal mission,” his fantasy girl said and walked towards him, her hair lifting in the light breeze. “What gives with the jeans?”
“I didn’t think I’d come to much harm as long as I wore the helmet and jacket.”
“Safety first, mate,” she said. “Anyway, I’m here because I’ve seen the way you look at me. There’s something I have to do, and I need you to understand.”
Jake’s brow furrowed.
Rachel stepped up close, held Jake’s face in her warm hands, and gazed into his eyes. She pulled him forward, and pressed her lips to his, driving her tongue deep into his mouth. The kiss lasted for several seconds. Rachel stepped back.
“Bloody hell,” Jake said, as he adjusted himself. “What was the kiss for?”
“It’s the only time we’ll kiss, so I hope you enjoyed it.”
Jake squinted and stared at her in silence.
“I’m wrong for you Jake, and you’ll have to take my word.”
“But we hardly—”
“I recognise what it’s like to see something you can’t have.” She placed her forefinger on his lips. “Hold onto your hairdresser, or pack her in, and find somebody else, but please don’t punish yourself. I don’t do relationships.”
Jake nodded and continued to stare at her like a puppy.
She took her finger away from his mouth. “I’ll see you at work. Okay?”
“Okay.”
The object of his desire put on her helmet and gauntlets, climbed onto her bike, tapped a finger to her visor, and roared away.
Jake put on his helmet after he’d wiped his eyes.
Arkwright was standing at a window one floor above the scene. “At least you’ve tasted a kiss from your fantasy girl, you lucky bastard.”
17. Emergencies
Stella spent most of her Friday evening worrying about the return of the black 4 x 4. At 22:30, the suspicious vehicle turned into Eagle Park Drive, the lights were switched off, and it pulled into Stella’s driveway.
When she heard the car doors closing, Stella went to the front door. She remembered what Phil had told her, but her heart was racing. The two callers didn’t ring the bell, because one of them had a key.
Kavanagh stepped inside, followed by his muscle-bound companion—a man in his twenties, wearing a T-shirt and jeans. Kavanagh pushed his ex-wife with one hand, and she fell against the wall in the hallway.
“Let me introduce you, my dear.” Kavanagh grinned as he advanced towards the terrified woman. “This is Dougie Radnor, and you’ll get to know him better in a while. We’re going to get you prepared for a special night. Aren’t we Dougie?”
“Yeah Brian, she’s gonna’ have a special night wi’ the lads.”
“Please leave, Brian.” Stella stepped back into her spotless living room. “It’s over between us.”
“I’m not going to touch you, but Dougie is going to give you a treat. When he’s finished with you, we’re taking you to a club in town where a few more men will take turns.” Kavanagh laughed.
Radnor closed the living room door. “I’m glad I’m first. A classy woman like you is gonna’ get ruined.” He stepped forward beside the ex-husband.
Stella held her breath, staring at the pair of them. She burst into tears and collapsed onto a chair, her hands covering her face. “Please don’t Brian,” she sobbed.
“If you don’t want me, I want you fucking used.” He bent forward and grabbed her by the hair. “After tonight, a decent man won’t go near you—fucking bitch.”
“We’re divorced Brian—it’s all over.”
“No it isn’t, and when we get a hold of your new fucking boyfriend, he’ll be going to the club for the same treatment.”
A click from the living room door captured the attention of both men. They turned.
Phil was standing with his pistol two inches from Radnor’s head. “Kneel down.”
Radnor’s lips parted in a smile, but it changed to a grimace when Phil’s toecap landed in the younger man’s groin. When the would-be rapist dropped to his knees, gasping, Phil gripped his hair and kneed him in the face. Radnor fell forward, his forehead bouncing on the deep-pile carpet.
“Now, put this on your friend.” Phil handed a broad, plastic cable-tie to Kavanagh, but kept the pistol aimed at his ashen face. “Do it, or you’ll join him.”
It was five minutes before Radnor could stand up, and it was with difficulty. Both he and Kavanagh had their hands secured behind their backs.
“You’re a fucking dead man,” Radnor said. “D’ya hear me. You’re fucking d—”
Phil used a length of gaffer tape to end the threat. Radnor’s bleeding nose flared as his breathing was restricted, and his eyes bulged while he stared at his assailant. His face reddened, and his head shook from side to side.
The ex-husband stood, wide-eyed, and mouth gaping.
“Are you going to apologise to your ex-wife?” Phil asked. When Kavanagh’s teeth closed on his lower lip, the intended curse was silenced by a large piece of gaffer tape.
Both of the uninvited guests were pushed outside where they stopped at their 4 x 4 and exchanged a look of bewilderment. Their vehicle had been turned around and reversed close to the front door of the house. The tailgate was raised, and the engine was running.
“Get in,” Phil said. He whacked the butt of the pistol on the back of Radnor’s head. When the big man knelt in the luggage space, Phil turned and raised the gun. Kavanagh climbed in awkwardly. When both men were crushed together, Phil dropped the tailgate.
A red Golf GTi pulled into the street and stopped a short distance away. Annabel was in jeans and a shirt. She wore a denim jacket on top, to cover her shoulder holster. As she passed the driver’s door of the black car, she nodded and went to the house.
Phil was in the doorway.
“I was about to have a perfumed bath,” Annabel said, “and some beauty sleep.”
“We both know you don’t need it,” Phil said. “Well, you don’t need the beauty sleep.” He was rewarded with a punch in the arm. Humour in dark times was an aspect of military life but was shared by operatives like Annabel. The pair went indoors.
“Stella, this is Annabel, a colleague and close personal friend. She’ll be staying with you until I get back. Trust me—you’ll be safe. I’ll be back later.”
Phil walked past the 4 x 4 and tapped on the driver’s window. He gave a thumbs-up and continued to his Celica. The black 4 x 4 left the street, and Phil followed.
Late Friday night was one of those occasions when certain areas of Barrowland, Bridgeton, and nearby Glasgow Green became a living organism. If it were illegal, immoral, or disgusting to the ordinary person in the street, it would be happening somewhere in this district.
In every major city in the world, areas exist where it’s inadvisable to visit in the dark. It was while running through Glasgow Green one morning it struck Phil how peaceful it was in daylight. A stark contrast existed at certain times. In the ‘wee small hours’, peculiar individuals frequented the park.
Phil drove along London Road, noting the shadows in doorways, and the scantily clad working girls on their way to the Barrowland nightclub area. Up ahead the black 4 x 4 reached a row of rundown retail premises near the chicane at the Barrowland market. The black car turned right into the semi-darkness of Charlotte Street.
The south end of Charlotte Street had once been home to two respectable schools, one on either side, but those days were long gone. There were modern apartments on one side of the road, and a small gravel car park on the other. The place had become an unremarkable, one hundred metre strip joining London Road to one of Glasgow Green’s main entrances.
Phil pulled into the gravel area and spun his car. It was ready
to leave. He pulled on his black ski-mask and went to the back of the 4 x 4. Rachel pulled on a black ski mask and joined him. She’d be assisting but keeping an eye open for any interference.
The human body reacts passively when limbs are forced against natural movement. Phil dragged both big men from the 4 x 4 onto the ground. Taking a grip of their bindings, Phil yanked them to their feet and raised their arms high.
Both of the men leant forward when their arms where lifted behind them. They tried to raise their heads, but they were disorientated, and the area was in semi-darkness.
The strange group bundled across Greendyke Street, and into the open entrance which once housed the McLennan Arch. Inside the grounds of the park they turned left, and Rachel stayed a few metres behind. Near the entrance area, they arrived at a clump of bushes where they were hidden from view.
Phil kept his weapon aimed at one or the other of the captives, while Rachel fitted handcuffs to them. Kavanagh and Radnor were secured together at the wrists, facing each other with their arms wrapped around a large tree. While Phil pulled the gaffer tape from their mouths, Rachel undid their belts and dropped their trousers.
Both captives were speechless at first when the tape was removed. They struggled, cursed, and quietly threatened. When their plight became clear, they both shouted for mercy. They wanted to make amends—too late.
Before Phil and Rachel reached the Celica, the black 4 x 4 had already been stolen. It was expected since Rachel had left the keys in the ignition, and the driver’s window open.
Phil headed west along London Road. “You’re quiet, Rachel. Are you okay?”
Rachel spoke without turning. “Tonight, my Uncle Eric came to mind.”
Phil stopped at a red light. He turned briefly. “You don’t have to tell me anything, but if you want to talk about, it will remain confidential.”
“What if I don’t want to?” she said, staring straight ahead.
“Either way, it doesn’t affect our partnership.” The lights changed, and Phil set off.
