by Tom Benson
It took five minutes to get access to the house, and locate Cameron’s study. Jake looked around the desk area. There’d be no high-level information left on the desk, but there might be something interesting.
He flicked through the diary—nothing. No phone numbers, names or locations listed. Was the journal left there to tease an intruder? The two drawers contained nothing of any importance. They held invoices for domestic repairs.
He checked around the room. In textbook fashion, the safe was located behind a large painting. It wasn’t sophisticated and took ten minutes to open. It was time for the hard work. Jake wasn’t a secret agent and didn’t have a camera the size of a thimble, but he’d been given a good briefing.
Any names secured in the safe meant they were important enough to be noted. Jake listed twenty names with contact numbers. He wrote out seven locations, unsure if they were addresses or something else. He was tempted to take photographs from the room, but his brief was to get in and out, unseen. He packed his equipment and notebook and closed the safe.
The video machine attached to the CCTV security was in plain view and operating. Jake removed the most recent tape and took three minutes longer with a screwdriver to put the machine beyond economical repair. It was three minutes he couldn’t afford.
Jake made his way back to the door where he’d gained entry. A door closed behind him.
Smith was grinning as if he’d been given wishes by a, particularly attractive Fairy Godmother. “Mr Cameron is allergic to dogs, but it doesn’t mean his house isn’t guarded on the inside.” Smith walked toward Jake. “Before I break your fuckin’ arms and legs, do you want to tell me what the fuck you’re doin’ in here?”
Jake had practised this scenario in his head, but, the further his task progressed, the more he believed he’d get away unscathed. While standing a few metres from Smith, it was apparent the man wasn’t merely a security guard—he enjoyed brutality.
“You must be, Smith.” As Jake spoke, he reached for the glass door and pushed it open. He took a step outside, but his nerves got the better of him, and his other foot caught the doorstep. Jake stumbled and fell onto the path.
Smith was beside the burglar before he could recover. “Knowing somebody’s name doesn’t mean shit. What are you doing in here, on such a pleasant Saturday afternoon?”
“Mr Cameron told me he’d be leaving the house, and he wanted me to check security.” Jake lifted his pack and backed off along the tarmac pathway.
Smith stepped forward. “When did he tell you this?”
“Earlier ... today.” Jake continued to walk back along the side of the house.
“What time?” Smith gave a crooked grin. His eyes sparkled, and the large scar on his cheek stretched.
“I can’t remember the exact time.” Jake shuffled backwards.
“You can’t remember, because you’re talking a load of shit, son.” Smith took another step. He reached into his pocket and produced a piece of paper. “Did you deliver this, today?”
“I ... I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He had to make it to the large gate.
“Let me refresh your memory, you little scumbag.” Smith unfolded the crumpled note, and read. “Cameron. Your wife will be kidnapped if you don’t cease your illegal activities. Hawk” Smith crunched the paper up and replaced it in his pocket. “Now, what’s in the bag?”
“Tools ....” Jake took several rapid steps backwards. He had the house to one side, and the long stretch of driveway to the gate and the main road.
“Hand it over.” Smith extended a large, scarred hand.
“It’s my—”
“Give me the fucking bag—now!” Smith reached out, as he stepped forward.
Jake shrugged the bag from his shoulder and glanced back. The gate had an electronic lock. He’d have to run and climb. He handed over the bag.
Smith emptied the backpack onto the path and grinned at Jake when he saw the thin blue notebook. He opened it at the first page, and to prove he could read, did so aloud.
“Mr Cameron I successfully entered your property and located your safe and personal documents. I left a note in your safe.” He flicked through the book to find it was intact, but nothing else was written in it. “What the fuck is this?”
“I’ve been told to put it in the post box outside.” Jake took two more paces back, trying to judge how fast Smith might be on his feet.
“You’re fucking bluffing.” Smith dropped the book and stepped forward. “Empty your pockets.”
“I’ve got nothing—”
“Okay,” Smith said. “I’ll give you a chance.”
Jake’s eyes narrowed. He listened for the twist.
“It’s fifty metres to the gate.” Smith produced a key fob. “Without this, the gate doesn’t open. You’ll have to climb it before I reach you, and the gate is over two metres high.”
Jake turned and bolted with every ounce of his being. The adrenalin rush helped. The more substantial, but rapid steps of the bigger man slapped the paving. Jake’s heart was pounding when he was ten metres from the gate.
“Go on!” Smith shouted. “Run you little bastard.” He didn’t sound out of breath.
Jake threw himself up onto the metal structure, scrabbling for a grip. He reached the top with one hand, but his latex gloves slipped along his fingers, and he lost his grip.
“Fuck,” he breathed.
“Now, you’re fucking mine.” Smith grabbed Jake’s ankle and tugged hard.
Jake fell from the gate, and the back of his head bounced on the driveway.
Smith was standing with his back to the gate; grinning. He was an ugly bastard—a big, ugly bastard. “You fucked up, son.” Smith stood with his arms folded. “I was calling your bluff. If you’d have kept your nerve, you’d have gotten away with it.”
“It’s all part of the—”
“It’s all part of fuck all,” Smith said. “Now I want the other blue notebook—the one in your back pocket you sneaky bastard.”
“I haven’t—”
Smith kicked Jake in the ribs and laughed aloud.
Jake’s body coiled up, his eyes opened wide, and his mouth opened and closed, but his breathing had stopped. Coldness enveloped him. If he could talk, he would have pleaded for his life, or apologised. His life was about to end on a driveway miles from the nearest town.
Smith stepped back two paces. “Say goodbye to your face.” He swung his right foot back, like a footballer taking a penalty. The big man’s foot hovered briefly, ready to send his victim into agonising, toothless oblivion.
Jake was paralysed with fear as he watched, and listened in disbelief from his foetal position. Smith’s right ankle exploded, and the white sock turned deep red. The thug screamed, and his entire body lifted into the air before he landed on his back. He whimpered for a few seconds, his leg bent, and both hands reaching for his disintegrated right ankle. He fell back; unconscious.
Phil sent Rachel into Callander on a mission—to buy clothes for Lindsey and Kirsten. “Get outfits which will be comfortable for travel. Make sure Lindsey has a top with sleeves.”
“I won’t be long.”
It was 14:00 when the four of them left the campsite. Kirsten said she’d love to see more of Scotland’s beauty. Phil assured her she would when the present situation calmed. Lindsey reminded her, she’d so far only seen the gateway to the Highlands.
Phil drove the Mazda with Lindsey in the front, and Kirsten in the back. The conversation was sporadic. As they travelled, he briefed them. Rachel followed on her bike, and they headed south towards Stirling, before turning west onto the M80 for Glasgow.
Phil told Rachel to park up in the city and have lunch. He said he’d call her when he was ready. He dropped the other two women two hundred metres away from the long-stay car park in Cowcaddens Road. He had explained about the security cameras throughout the city. Before approaching the entrance, he donned shades and pulled down the driver’s sun shield.
The car park was an ideal place to leave the car for a day or two, and Phil could move it later. It meant Lindsey’s car was far enough from the railway stations to ensure the police didn’t find it quickly. The chances were, whoever had tipped off the assassin, would know by now, he had failed. Somebody else might be tasked with locating the women.
Before they separated, Phil spoke to them in a side street off Sauchiehall Street. He gave them both plenty of cash, which meant no need of a card. Cards were handy but traceable.
Phil said, “I don’t want either of you seen with me, or with each other. There are CCTV cameras everywhere. You can buy clothes here, or wait till we’re nearer the railway station.”
“You have many shops here?” Kirsten asked.
Lindsey said, “Argyle Street is around the corner from Central Station. We could take a walk along here first, and Argyle Street afterwards. Will it be okay Phil?”
“Yes. We’ve got plenty of time before your train departs. Buy a few clothes, toiletries ... and overnight bags. We’ll grab a bite to eat at the St Enoch Centre.” He smiled at both of them. “I’ll be staying within sight of you till you go.”
Lindsey said, “Will Joe have enough room?”
“Viking assures me he’s got it covered. The attic is converted into a spare bedroom. It’s important for Kirsten to have a place to duck out of sight if the police visit.”
“I hate to impose on Joe and his wife. I haven’t seen them in years, and I’m looking for a favour like this.”
“As far as he’s concerned, you’re Ken’s wife, and one of us. Once Regiment—always Regiment. We take care of our own.”
Lindsey was part of the Special Forces family.
Kirsten asked, “Is Birmingham close to where Joe lives, Mr Hawk?”
“No Kirsten, but you two will have a chance to relax for a while on the train. Viking will pick you up at Birmingham New Street, and drive you to their house outside Hereford. On the car journey, he’ll give you a briefing. I think you’ll like him.”
“I am thinking you are all good men.”
Phil said nothing, and Lindsey smiled.
Phil, Lindsey and Kirsten commenced their walk through Glasgow city centre, starting from Sauchiehall Street’s impressive pedestrian precinct. Lindsey went ahead, followed by Kirsten several paces behind. Phil walked on the opposite side of the precinct and was able to keep an eye on both of them.
The two women had come alive in the midst of the busy and well-represented shopping area. On the ninety-minute car journey from Callander, both Lindsey and Kirsten had been quiet.
After the shopping period, they continued in their staggered formation to the large food court in St Enoch Shopping Centre. Phil sat on the upper level, where he could watch for anything unusual. Kirsten and Lindsey sat at separate tables but within conversation distance.
When they’d had lunch in their strange separated fashion, they left the cafe as they’d entered, with Phil acting as guardian. They made their way across Argyle Street and towards Central Station.
Phil met the pair in one of the side entrances of the station, which was out of camera view. He hugged both women and kissed them both on the cheek. “I don’t want to hear any stories about you two running around town. Behave yourselves and go along with whatever story Viking creates.”
Both women smiled, although they were far from settled. Phil observed them buying tickets at the office before they walked separately to the platform.
Outside the ticket office, a dark-haired man stood reading a newspaper, occasionally observing the many travellers. He noted two women who were a few metres apart but heading for the same platform. He followed them at a discreet distance and watched them go into separate doors of the same carriage. They headed to the middle where they sat together.
The man with the newspaper got on board, walked along the carriage, and stopped at the set of four seats. He pulled a ticket from his pocket and checked the reservation cards on the two vacant places opposite Kirsten and Lindsey.
He leant across the table in between while reading the reservations. “Hello girls, I’m Dave.”
The quiet apprehension of the two women changed to sighs as their next guardian sat down beside them. He placed a paper bag on the table. “Diet Cokes okay for now? We’ll order snacks shortly from the trolley.”
Kirsten said, “Why does Mr Hawk refer to Joe as, Viking?”
The other two exchanged a look and laughed. Dave explained.
19. Surprises
Jake’s breath came back in painful bursts. He reached down and gently pressed on his ribcage. The area was severely bruised and tender, but his ribs were intact. His first instinct was to get up and run, but running was his old way. He had to show a sense of purpose.
When he approached the unconscious thug, Jake had an overwhelming desire to kick him in the face, but wanton violence wasn’t his style. He knelt and went through Smith’s pockets to locate the key fob. He took the crushed up note Phil had written for Cameron.
Before he operated the fob to open the gate, Jake collected all his belongings, including the dummy notebook, and the discarded gloves. He looked around—nobody in sight.
Jake threw his pack onto his shoulder and winced at the pain in his ribs. He pressed the button on the key fob and watched the gate open fully. He lurched through the gates and pressed the key fob. As the gate closed behind him, Jake crossed to the woodland and threw the fob into the undergrowth. He staggered away.
Before going too far, Jake removed his shoe covers. His left side hurt, but he laughed nervously when he considered he had his teeth. Smith would have been content to kick him to death. The location was perfect for it, as Hawk had stressed. During the briefing it was stressed, if he were caught, he’d be in real trouble. Cameron’s house was far enough in the countryside nobody would know. It was a bitter lesson learned.
Instead of a more comfortable walk along the roadside, being spotted by motorists, Jake made his way among the trees and accepted the pain and difficulty of trudging through the undergrowth. He stopped beside his motorbike, removed the makeshift camouflage cover, and rolled it up.
He was about to climb onto his bike when the seriousness of his situation struck him like another blow. The rolled up tarpaulin made him think of Rachel, and how she’d rescued him in the derelict. He thought about Smith’s exploding ankle, and Alpha came to mind. She must have been in the area watching out for him.
Jake dropped to his knees, leant on the bike’s saddle with both arms and wept. For all his special skills and the excellent training given by Arkwright, he’d been rescued twice—both times by a woman. It took him several minutes to pull himself together before he mounted his bike.
When he got home, he told his mother he’d fallen off his bike, but he was fine. It was ten minutes before Jake made contact. He sat in the back garden with his mobile.
“Hi Alpha, it’s Jake.” He listened to her sexy voice. “I got the information. Yes, I’m fine ... I’ll see you in a while. Bye.”
A short while later, an attractive woman in a smart grey trouser suit came to Emma Carter’s door.
“Hi, I’m DC Andrea Summers,” the woman said and held up a small black wallet containing an identity card. “I’ve been asked to collect something from Jake.”
“Hi,” Jake said, squeezing past his mother. “Here’s the book I found. I don’t know if it’s important.” Emma looked the woman up and down and went inside.
Annabel accepted the notebook. “It’ll be important to somebody, Jake. Thank you for making an effort to call.” She winked.
Jake was leaning slightly to one side and wincing. “Thank you,” he said, looking into her dark eyes. He wanted to hug her.
“You take it easy now,” Annabel said, “and leave the rest to us. Bye, Mrs Carter.”
Emma went to the window and watched the woman walk down the street, and around the corner. “Funny, isn’t it Jake?”
“What is?”
; “The police have been swarming around here in the last couple of days since those murders around in Monymusk Place, but to pick up a notebook, they send a plainclothes officer.”
“An attractive, plainclothes officer,” Jake said, stepping up to the window.
“Yes, she was, and charismatic too. Neither of us paid attention to her identity card.” She turned to Jake. “She knew your address, and she was carrying car keys, but she didn’t use the parking spaces in our street.”
“She might have been visiting somebody else too.”
“I’ll make us a pot of tea, Jake. I think we’ve both got a couple of secrets to share.” She kissed him on the forehead before going into the kitchen.
On Saturday afternoon, DS Eddie Monroe arrived at the station following another trip out to Drumchapel. He stopped at the DC’s door to let him know he was back. “Hi, Boss!”
“Hi Eddie, how did it go mate?”
“I followed up your theory about the country track which leads away from the back of the estate in two directions. As you said, the children wouldn’t make good witnesses. Besides, some of the parents wouldn’t let us talk to their kids.”
“Any joy with either of the two tracks?”
“We have them cordoned off, which is annoying a lot of people. The uniform guys have walked the area, and searched to the right. They’re now scouring the Bluebell Woods.”
“What about the other side—which is the more likely escape route?”
“Uniform were dealing with the undergrowth on either side, but I walked the length of it and spoke to the farmer this time. According to him, they have runners up and down the route every day, in any weather.”
“Who would have thought it?” Sam said. “As the great Glasgow public goes running and gets fitter, it makes our job bloody harder.”
Eddie laughed. “I’ll go back through the statements.”
“Thanks, Eddie.” Sam continued to study photographs taken at the scene.
Eddie lifted a manila envelope from his tray. It had his rank and name written in block letters, and above it stated, ‘FOR ADDRESSEE ONLY’. He emptied the contents onto his desk. It was a note formed using cut out words:
