by Tom Benson
The Sycamore was a secluded and remote private clinic established to deal with a unique clientele. Two miles north of Alexandria in Dunbartonshire, the place was off the beaten track. The requirements of the guests were a consideration, but so too was security.
The building had once been a wealthy landowner’s mansion. A conversion saw it become a clinic but fitted with elaborate monitoring arrangements. A network of CCTV cameras pointed outward as well as inward, creating security in depth.
To any visitor, except those with inside knowledge, it was a home of critical care. Some of the patients were treated for psychological disorders while others had physical needs, but they had one thing in common—they were high-profile convicts. It was deemed necessary to keep them in a location that protected both them and the public.
William Hartley had become a resident of The Sycamore in late ‘96.
As a young man, Hartley had been known as Billy Henderson, one of the wayward sons of a criminal father. The final despicable act which this particular Henderson had committed was to shoot three people dead during an armed robbery in ‘77. The police captured the gang members soon afterwards, which included Billy’s brother, Lenny.
At the time of his arrest, Billy Henderson struck a deal with the authorities. A reduced sentence was on offer, but the young robber-turned-murderer escaped during a hospital visit. He moved to London, where he maintained a low profile. It was there he worked for and studied masters of criminality.
When he returned to Scotland some years later, it was with his new identity, William Hartley. It took the refocused and ruthless criminal only a few years to deal with the competition, and he soon became one of the top gang leaders in the country.
In July ‘96, Hartley finally met his match. For several weeks, a variety of his gang’s activities had been thwarted by an unknown vigilante. Extortion, prostitution, people trafficking and drug smuggling were all making a fortune for Hartley, but the operation took a hit in every area.
At the height of his powers, he found it hard to believe anybody would tackle him. He discovered his Nemesis was a man nicknamed Hawk. At first, Hartley thought the name was a sick joke. He organised a face-to-face meeting with his opposite number from the south side of the River Clyde; Mental Mickey McGinley.
McGinley refuted the allegations, assuring Hartley he had no part in the activities north of the river. The word on the street was, the Hawk character was real. He was the secretive hero of the people and led a small but capable team. They were causing havoc in what had for years been a smooth running organisation.
Life for Hartley changed drastically after a month of problems when he came face to face with Hawk. The vigilante was the son of two of the victims of Hartley’s vicious and unnecessary shooting all those years ago in Glasgow.
On the fateful day back in ‘77, many people remembered the on-court battle between Bjorn Borg and Jimmy Connors at Wimbledon. For a teenager by the name of Phil McKenzie, it was remembered because his parents had both been gunned down by a heartless teenage armed robber.
Phil had been at college working on a project with friends when the incident took place, and it changed the course of his life. A short while after the funerals of his parents, Phil joined the army and left Glasgow.
The teenager was still mourning and vowed at his parents’ grave that he would find their killer. When the day of reckoning arrived in July ‘96, Phil McKenzie was older and wiser, but still carried the anger. He avenged the death of his parents, by using his fists to beat Hartley senseless.
.
Monday 28th June
Alexandria, Dunbartonshire
Scotland
“You’ve got a visitor Hartley,” the male orderly said. He grinned at the man who had been in a near-vegetative since admission seven years before. The orderly was a thirty-three-year-old who had worked at the establishment for over three years, so he had seen this particular visitor more than once.
“Thank you Des,” the attractive woman said. She noted the man was still unable to disguise the lingering look he always gave her. “I’ll ring when I’m ready.”
“No problem, Miss Smith,” Des Grant said and enjoyed another eyeful before leaving and closing the door. He was fairly certain the name Smith was a pseudonym, and he was equally sure the statuesque woman was not a private nurse.
Once alone with the patient, the woman lifted the hard-backed chair and walked to the corner fitted with the CCTV lens. She kicked off her high heels and stepped onto the chair. Having draped her floral silk scarf over the camera, she stepped down again and slipped into her shoes again, before moving the chair to face Hartley.
“Hello again, bastard,” Annabel Strong said as she removed her coat and draped it over the back of the chair. She sat and looked into the dim, now twitching eyes of the man in the wheelchair. Annabel learned previously, the only time Hartley showed recognition was when she paid him a visit. He was always agitated afterwards.
At thirty-nine, Annabel looked several years younger. She was wearing a long copper-coloured wig over her natural auburn tresses. A pair of black-framed glasses disguised her long lashes and striking features. Her fuller figure and shapely legs captured the imagination of any warm-blooded male, but Hartley didn’t notice her assets.
“Well,” she said to the now trembling man. “Judging from the information I’ve gathered, you’ve had some regular visits recently.” She leant forward and looked into the eyes of a man who had ordered and witnessed much suffering. “I bet you wish you could shut your visitors up sometimes, don’t you, eh?”
Hartley’s head began to shake, and both of his eyes twitched. His eyes had been twitching since he became aware of this woman’s presence. Even her subtle perfume registered. He recognised little from life outside of this room, but Annabel knew how to push his buttons.
She was aware Hartley would not be able to speak, but some of his senses would be active. Her presence and her voice would reach deep inside and trigger fear. It was well-known, before ending up here Hartley had feared no-one.
“Hawk sends his regards,” she said and enjoyed the man’s violent spasm at the sound of the name. Annabel had discovered in one of her earliest visits several years before, the vigilante’s name still registered in Hartley’s subconscious. It almost caused the ex-villain to go into convulsions.
Annabel pulled on a surgical glove before she leant forward and tugged at the hearing aid in Hartley’s right ear. It came free without effort, and she unclipped the battery housing. In less than a minute, the hearing aid was wiped clean and replaced with a fresh battery. The micro-transmitter seated inside beside the battery was in good condition.
When Annabel had paid her first visit shortly after Hartley’s incarceration, she had been asked why he required a hearing aid. She explained the presence of the device was necessary for his recognition of visitors and acquaintances from his past.
What she didn’t explain to the clinic director at the time, was the recognition was for analysis and covert crime-fighting purposes. Every word said within two metres of Hartley was transmitted, and recorded.
.
The Bungalow, Lennoxtown
East Dunbartonshire
Scotland
Phil arrived home from his regular five-mile run. He showered, dressed and lifted his mobile phone as he took his coffee to sit in the rear garden. For many years, he had never been able to relax, but Annabel had influenced his life in many respects.
During July ‘96, Phil and Annabel had worked closely. After all they’d been involved in, as time passed they both recognised there was a mutual attraction; they had shared chemistry. When they decided to co-habit, Phil was thirty-six and Annabel thirty-two. Up until then, in their separate professions, they had learned to live without a close partner, except occasionally in work.
Phil had difficulty putting his demons to rest, so had devoted his life to his job in the SAS. To his colleagues, when he was on operations, he had an almost detach
ed reality. Nothing worried the man, but by the same token, nothing mattered to him; except his comrades and the mission of the moment. He was emotionless when in action.
For her part, Annabel had worked for both MI5, and MI6, at separate times. In her operational role, she was as comfortable taking a life as she was taking a breath, but just like Phil; she had issues. The difference between the two people was, nobody in Annabel’s professional life knew the full extent of her personal demons.
In essence, a task that brought them together for one month served to bring the disturbed, human killing machines to find comfort with each other. Neither would admit it aloud, but it was their individual backgrounds that allowed them to exist together.
On completion of their month of fighting crime with means and methods beyond the law, it was Stella Kavanagh, an estate agent, and a trusted mutual friend who had found them a well-appointed house to rent.
In August ‘96, Phil and Annabel moved into a beautiful rented house situated a mile from Cambuslang, outside Glasgow. They agreed to lie low for a short while to recharge their batteries and consider the future. One of the primary considerations was designing their place if they decided to continue the relationship.
When the time came, it was agreed to build a few miles north of Glasgow, approximately half-way between Torrance and Lennoxtown. In one way, they were out of the city, but they could reach the main traffic route with ease.
The Bungalow was the result of their venture. The track that led to the house stretched back one hundred metres from a narrow country road. It was a special house in many ways and not least because of the sizeable double garage attached to the side of the main building. A small armoury took up a basement room, and another was a mini-gym. Security sensors monitored the surrounding gardens and fields.
Phil was sipping his hot black coffee when his phone burst into life. He checked the display and then held the device to his left ear.
“Hi,” he said. “Is everything okay?”
He listened as Annabel gave an ETA for her return. There were no frills in their phone conversations, which was one of the ways they managed to guard themselves against anyone eavesdropping on their communications, or trying to assess their attitude towards each other.
“See you then. Ciao,” Phil said and smiled as he placed his phone on the garden table. Phil sipped his coffee and smiled. He respected and admired his partner’s many talents, but he knew she had also been responsible for converting an automaton into a human being.
One of the team members from the experimental month of a few years before was Rachel Donoghue. She was young, pretty and a competent vehicle thief. When it reached August ‘96, Rachel too had ceased operating as a vigilante, for a short while, but in her case had been trained in the skills of safe-breaking and lock-picking.
Rachel had been a twenty-three-year-old at the formation of the team. Like her two superiors, she had her share of personal demons. Although not heartless, she proved she was capable of personal detachment when required. She showed her mettle more than once.
The fourth member of the original team had been Jake Carter, then a twenty-one-year-old, and a pickpocket. Jake had been the victim of more than one physical assault during the team’s introductory reign of summary justice, but he strived to give his best for the team.
Apart from his physical injuries he had a serious crush on Rachel from the moment they met. She told him in no uncertain terms to forget any designs he had on a relationship. She liked him as a colleague, but she wasn’t looking for a man.
The team experience had been a steep learning curve for Jake. It created a desire to show he could be much more than his associates had seen. He spent several weeks recuperating after the month-long operation against the criminal underworld, and then when he got physically fit, he joined the army. His dream had been to emulate Phil. He aspired to join the SAS after he’d gained sufficient military experience.
The disappearance in ‘96, of Hartley and many others from the streets of Glasgow, left the way open for fresh criminal minds. It would take many months because there was a real and constant fear of the unknown vigilante group, led by the mysterious Hawk.
9. Reunion
.
Thursday 1st July
BTL Enterprises
Glasgow
Scotland
“I’m looking forward to this session,” Phil said and sipped his coffee. He half-turned from the panoramic office window, lips parted and eyes sparkling.
Annabel stopped work on the notice boards for a moment and looked across the room at Phil. It always warmed her heart to see her man smile. He was her dark-haired, handsome and enigmatic hero. It was some of the hidden aspects of the man that attracted the ex-intelligence officer.
In the early 90’s the pair had met briefly at the SAS HQ in Hereford, and then in the summer of ‘96, they became crime-fighting partners. It was only at the end of the month of intense activity on Glasgow’s streets when they had taken solace in each other’s company.
Given their individual courage, they were both apprehensive about relationships. They met for a meal or a cultural visit several times before Annabel broached a subject Phil would not suggest, even though they were prepared to put their lives on the line for each other.
Phil didn’t admit it until much later, but he had been secretly pleased about Annabel’s notion of moving in together. Their relationship blossomed. Although never overtly romantic, the strength of their personal connection was stronger than anyone could imagine. They might not have taken vows in a ceremony, but in their case, ‘till death do us part’ was a genuine possibility. So too was the potential it would be a particularly violent death.
“Our first associate has arrived,” Annabel said, nodding to the coloured monitor high in one corner of the briefing room.
Phil glanced at the screen and then his watch—it was 9 am. The woman in black leathers carrying the black, full-face helmet was an hour early. A click sounded, followed by a short buzz, and then Rachel stepped into the cubicle known as the airlock.
The first door to the BTL Enterprises unit had a digitised combination lock and a fingerprint recognition scanner for authorised users. Any other visitor could be seen and cleared from within, and then they’d arrive into a compartment measuring two metres square.
The next door, being the entry to the main suite was solid steel and also had a combination lock. This door gave access to the heart of the operation.
“Hi Rachel,” Phil said and smiled at how fresh the thirty-year-old always looked.
“Good morning, Boss,” Rachel said, nodding to Phil. She had her safety helmet tucked under her left arm and a small backpack hanging from her right shoulder. “Good morning, gorgeous,” she said as she turned, smiling to approach Annabel.
“Good morning Rachel.” Annabel stepped forward. Rachel placed her helmet on the table before she and Annabel embraced, kissing each other on both cheeks.
It was a greeting that to some might have seemed unusual for people in their line of work, but as Annabel had once told Rachel, ‘It’s the small things that help us retain a degree of normality.’
“I’ll go and make myself respectable.” Rachel lifted her helmet and headed to the back rooms. The door to the facilities area was at right angles to the entrance of the briefing room and led to the remainder of the suite.
While Rachel was changing, Annabel continued to set up the room for the meeting, and Phil occasionally raised his powerful field glasses to look out over the city and along the River Clyde in both directions.
Phil spoke as he slowly scanned the view. “It’s great to see cloudless blue skies and flags barely lifting from their masts.” He turned. “Those things and good company bode well for a good start to the day.”
Annabel smiled at the thought of her warrior being philosophical.
At 9:10 am, the intercom buzzed. Phil glanced up at the monitor, and his lips curled as he focused on the man standing downstairs at t
he main entrance. The visitor was wearing a light blue T-shirt and dark green biker leathers. Under his left arm was tucked a metallic dark green helmet with mirrored visor. His brown hair was cut short, and his complexion tanned.
Annabel went to the inner door grinning and pressed the intercom button. “Top floor and then left.” She watched as the visitor nodded toward the camera and entered the building.
It had taken five minutes before there was a buzz at the external door. Annabel pressed the second button that allowed entry to the airlock. Once the visitor was inside the confined space, Annabel opened the inner door.
“Hello, Annabel.” Jake Carter dropped his holdall. He smiled and embraced the woman. “You are looking as radiant as ever.” As Rachel had done, Jake kissed Annabel on both cheeks and then went to say hello to the team leader.
The two men met halfway across the room and shook hands before they embraced in a man-hug. There was genuine affection apparent in the length of time they held each other. These tough men had mutual respect and shared the bond of a special brotherhood.
“Jake, my friend,” Phil said when they parted. “You are looking good.” The smile following the statement was warm and natural. “It’s good to see you again.”
“It’s great to see you guys again,” Jake said. There was a strong sense of belonging, remembering in particular, his hero Phil was not known for displays of affection. Jake looked around the square briefing room and raised an eyebrow. “Where’s my heartthrob? Surely I haven’t got here before her.”
“In your dreams.” Rachel closed the door that led from the inner corridor. “You’ve filled out since I last saw you, but in a good way.” She openly appraised her old teammate when he turned to face her.
“You’re still stunning. I like the shorter hairstyle too; it suits you.” He also took in the yellow blouse and black and white tartan mini-skirt, which showed off her figure and shapely legs.
