Beyond The Law Box Set

by Tom Benson

  After firing the opening salvos, the pair stepped forward, embraced, and held each other silently, like long-parted lovers.

  Phil and Annabel exchanged a knowing look as they walked towards the side table where the brew kit lived. The younger pair needed a moment.

  In the midst of the operation in ‘96, it had been brought to Rachel’s attention about Jake being smitten by her. Although flattered, she had her sights set on being a capable team member, which meant she wasn’t interested in romance.

  It was one evening back then after Jake had finished a long day on safe-breaking lessons when Rachel turned up on her yellow Norton. Rachel had taught Jake to ride, but until he gained experience, he had to be content with a less powerful machine than hers.

  She met Jake in the alleyway where he parked his 125cc Suzuki. Rachel approached him in the alley and without preamble, kissed him passionately. He had stood dumbstruck afterwards, staring at her.

  Rachel devastated him by saying it was the only time they would ever kiss because their relationship had to remain purely business. They continued as colleagues, and though there was no romance on the cards, Jake finished with his hairdresser girlfriend. He ached to be with Rachel, but he didn’t pester her. He’d seen her in action and was both pleased and proud to work with her.

  A few months later when Jake was heading off to basic military training, Rachel spoke to him confidentially. She assured him in other circumstances she would have been happy to be his girl. It was a small gesture but left Jake with his ego intact, his head held high—and an ongoing fantasy.

  Since his departure to join the army, Jake had only returned to Glasgow on a handful of brief visits. The last time he was in the city was to attend his mother’s funeral in 2002 when she died of cancer. In a message left for Jake, she reminded him of how proud she was of him but didn’t mention her condition, because it might have affected his work.

  On those few fleeting visits, Jake’s ex-associates had been out fighting crime, so the old team had never managed to get together. It had been seven years since the four friends were together in the same place.

  When Jake and Rachel released their grip, they stood apart and held each other’s gaze. One of them maintained a hint of hope while the other’s eyes sparkled with renewed interest. The spell faded, affected by a question from across the room.

  “Is it coffee for you two before we get started?” Annabel asked.

  “Chilled orange juice for me, please.” Rachel walked towards the table.

  “Black coffee, two sugars, please,” Jake said, recalling it was how Phil preferred his. Jake emulated his hero in many ways.

  As he waited for his coffee, Jake took the opportunity to assess the briefing room. It was square, and each wall had an operational function. Near the main door at the corner of the north wall was a door with a small gold sign that read ‘Facilities’.

  On the north wall, four large notice boards fixed in place laid out in a square format. The two on the left were corkboards, and the others were whiteboards. A television streaming twenty-four-hour news was mounted high in a corner.

  A massive black chalkboard made up the west wall. The wall opposite the chalkboard was neatly laid out with maps. Separate sheets for mainland Europe and the British Isles took up the left half, while a map of Scotland was next, followed by a large-scale Glasgow city street map. To the left side of each sheet was a legend consisting of numbered and coloured tags.

  Annabel said, “You can take your coffee through there, Jake, where you can get changed into something more comfortable.”

  “I will,” he said. “Thanks.” He used his free hand to lift his holdall and helmet to go through into the small corridor. On the left was a small, but functional kitchen, followed by a room containing four shelf units and four bunks. The bunk-beds were strapped flat against the walls—two on each side.

  On one of the units was a black helmet and leathers. On the base shelf were black leather boots and gauntlets. Jake grinned, remembering how seriously Rachel took her safety. It was a good thing she did because she usually rode like a racer.

  The last two doors in the short corridor were the washrooms. Jake went into the changing-cum-overnight room and peeled off his leathers. Following a quick wash and a change to T-shirt, jeans and training shoes, he re-joined the others.

  “This place is neat,” Jake said, nodding. “Please tell me the initials don’t mean what I think they mean.”

  Phil’s dimples showed as he nodded.

  Annabel grinned. “Yes, it’s an acronym for Beyond The Law, therefore; BTL Enterprises,” She added, “You won’t find it listed anywhere.”

  “Probably just as well.” Jake laughed as he shook his head. “Is the phone number on your card screened too?”

  “Yes,” Rachel said. “It operates through five relays, including a filtering channel at GCHQ in Cheltenham.”

  Jake smiled and nodded his approval.

  Although, in regular, not daily use, the other three had become accustomed to their new operational HQ, so it was good to see Jake impressed.

  Rachel enjoyed a long look at the guy whose ardour she had deflated long ago.

  His T-shirt stretched on his chest, and his shoulders and arms were filled-out from a self-imposed fitness regime. This man was not the guy who had left a few years before. This man was a new, improved version with a toned physique.

  Phil said, “Do we know when Ian will be able to make it up here?”

  “He has to finish off something in London today,” Jake said. “He said he’d call me as soon as he knew when he’d be free. He’s eager to meet you guys.”

  “How much does he know about our operation?” Annabel asked, studying Jake’s expression.

  “It was Stuart who told him about some of the team’s adventures, but he didn’t tell him in which city you operated.”

  Rachel asked, “Were you there when Stuart explained what we did?”

  “Yeah, we were in one of those elite clubs in London. You know the sort of place where it takes a nod, and you head to a cosy room for your meeting.”

  Rachel was genuinely interested. “Are those places like the movies, you know, all plush leather chairs, heavy furniture and bookshelves full of limited editions?”

  “Exactly like the movies.” Jake sipped his coffee.

  “Stuart said Ian was from Scotland,” Annabel said. “Do you know which part?”

  “Yeah, he’s originally from Edinburgh,”

  Phil said, “Why do you believe he would make a good addition to our team?”

  “I’ve seen the pressure he was under in the jungle. I reckon you could count on him in a tight situation.”

  “What are his other assets?” Annabel asked.

  “Well, apart from English, he speaks Spanish and German.” He paused. “Plus of course he has a background in chemistry. I found out he has a taste for blowing things up.”

  “He sounds good enough to me,” Phil said. “If you and Stuart rate him, and he’s a team player, we’ll bring him onboard.”

  “I think you’ll like him, and with his training and experience, he’ll fit in.”

  “Okay,” Phil said and nodded to Jake. He looked at each in turn, “If you would all like to take a seat we’ll get this session underway. Usual rules apply—don’t interrupt by leaving the table when somebody is in full flow.”

  Phil nodded towards the group of four square wooden tables, which were closed together to make one large table. Around this were situated six black, leather executive chairs. On the table in front of four of the chairs were pads, pens and printed briefing sheets with photographs.

  Jake and Rachel helped themselves to a fresh drink and sat together on the west side of the table layout while Phil and Annabel sat opposite.

  “Before we get started,” Jake said, nodding at Phil. “Thanks for keeping it quiet about my Uncle Dave.”

  Rachel looked from Jake to Phil and back again. “Is this something I don’t know abo
ut?”

  “It was a small detail that Phil didn’t tell me,” Jake said. “One of the team members in his final SAS assignment in Africa was Dave Carter, my father’s brother. Dave left home to join the army when he was seventeen, and never returned to Glasgow, so I’d never met him.”

  Annabel said, “It was through Dave we found out about Jake’s nimble fingers. While Jake thought his mother believed he had a regular job, she suspected he was up to no good. Jake’s dad wasn’t around, so she contacted Dave. When he got wind of what Phil was planning it seemed like an opportunity to pull Jake into something meaningful. Dave made a couple of calls, and I got wind of the situation.”

  Rachel said, “Your networking ability is incredible.”

  “The world of covert operatives and Special Forces are closer than many people think,” Annabel said. “It was simply a case of making contact with the right person.”

  Rachel was shaking her head. “So, Jake, when did you finally meet Dave?”

  “I transferred to the SAS from the Royal Engineers in 2002 and met him a few months later. We were sent out to the Middle East as part of an eight-man team. He didn’t tell me who he was until we were back in Hereford. He requested to take part in the operation to observe me.”

  “Is he still in the SAS Regiment?”

  “No,” Jake said. He turned to Phil. “I think your leader over there knows what he’s up to, though.”

  Phil smiled and nodded. “Dave is organising a group similar to ours, but I don’t know where.”

  “Wow,” Rachel said. “What do you think Dave will call his group?”

  “Knowing Dave’s vocabulary,” Jake said. “They’ll probably use the same initials as this one, but with the letter F in there. Maybe something like B.T.F.L. ...”

  Phil laughed heartily, which was still an unusual occurrence. Dave was renowned for dropping into the vernacular.

  The two women looked on as Phil and Jake shared the private joke.

  10. The Bait

  .

  Hyndland, Glasgow

  Scotland

  In the BTL briefing room, the meeting was about to get underway. A couple of miles west of the Bothwell Street office block, a member of the Mental Riders Motor Cycle Club cruised along the Great Western Road. Proudly emblazoned across the back of his jacket were the club colours.

  In a tongue-in-cheek design, the members of the gang got together to design their patch. They considered a version of the Glasgow coat of arms but came up with the idea of using St Mungo, the patron saint of the city.

  The official pose of the saint showed him facing forward, wearing a mitre and holy vestments. In his left hand a shepherd’s staff, his right hand raised, bent at the elbow, and two fingers extended facing forward.

  The Mental Riders version depicted the same man, wearing a biker’s helmet and a denim waistcoat. In his left hand a Samurai sword, and in his right, an automatic pistol. Below, the gang motto read, ‘Try your luck’.

  Above the patch, a scroll read, ‘Mental Riders’. A scroll below read ‘Glasgow’.

  Max was on his way to the clubhouse on Byres Road and observing the rules of the road for a change. He got a kick out of obeying traffic regulations because he knew most motorists were watching for an indiscretion. Up ahead with a backdrop of the Botanical Gardens the traffic lights changed in his favour.

  He glanced over his left shoulder before slowing to ease his bike into the left. A silver car sped up the filter lane, filling the view in the biker’s nearside mirror. Simultaneously came the sounds of a long blast of a car horn, and rubber screeching on the tarmac.

  Max swerved out of his intended lane, narrowly avoiding a collision—he had been in the correct position on the road. Upsetting a Mental Rider was never a good idea. Annoying such a rider who was playing by society’s rules—well, it was an invitation to violence.

  The biker’s lips formed a tight line, and his whiskers twitched. Having heaved his Triumph from the car’s path, Max glanced down at the driver’s face. Looking back from the vehicle was a dark-haired man with a full beard, and just above it, a livid scar across his right cheek. The injury continued across the man’s right ear.

  The rider and driver both turned away and then back to each other. There was another screech of rubber as the car dropped at the rear end and sped off. If the driver had intended to turn into Byres Road, his priorities had changed. He continued along the main road at speed.

  Max settled in the saddle and accelerated after the car. Five seconds later the angry biker was cruising behind the silver Vauxhall Astra. Although not a powerful car, it would be nimble in traffic and rapid on acceleration.

  However fast the car or skilled the driver, it was no match for a Triumph Tiger. The bike settled at a fifty-metre gap as if attached by an invisible elastic cord. The rider had a full tank and was confident. When the car ran out of juice, the bike would be good for many miles.

  Anniesland Cross was the next major junction and traffic dutifully followed the light sequence as vehicles from four directions crisscrossed the junction centre. The Astra arrived on the scene, lights flashing and horn blaring. Passers-by and motorists watched as the car weaved in and out between the other vehicles, causing many drivers to take evasive action.

  The traffic lights had not been in the Astra driver’s favour, but he continued to use his horn and somehow managed to negotiate the swerving cars, vans, and buses without making contact. The Astra reached the other side of the junction and accelerated once again.

  When the bike reached the junction it too went against the lights, but the rider found it easier, not least because most vehicles, including three double-decker buses, had stopped. Max cleared the junction and accelerated steadily. The Astra driver wouldn’t be getting away anytime soon.

  Five minutes later, the speeding car tackled the roundabout between Drumchapel and Clydebank. The bike was a few seconds behind, still in pursuit. Using a dual carriageway meant the car driver had little room for manoeuvre, but he was able to use speed. Within minutes, he was negotiating the roundabout at Hardgate and then continued west.

  The bike continued like a magnet, never far from the tail of the car. It was a foregone conclusion now. The biker would still be there whenever the car stopped. The pair sped along the A82, passing under the Erskine Bridge at Old Kilpatrick.

  At the Bowling junction, the Astra swerved into the filter lane with a few metres to spare. The car headed along the main route towards Dumbarton and Helensburgh. It remained on the road for a few minutes, before taking another turn at short notice. The vehicle leant over as it took a right at the roundabout in Dumbarton. This turn meant rejoining the A82, on the westbound carriageway.

  The next roundabout gave a choice of straight on or turning right. The Astra speeded up again, and once again leant hard over as it went around to the right.

  The bike approached each turn at a steady pace and negotiated all with ease. Once on a straight road, the rider lifted his right hand and pressed it against the item he carried under his leathers. He nodded to himself, sensing a particular debt would be settled soon.

  The Astra reached the small town of Balloch, miraculously negotiating several small junctions and passing through without killing any of the pedestrians who’d been using the crossing points. On the other side of Balloch, rubber screeched once again as the car spun sideways and headed down a narrow road. The next option was to turn at a junction two hundred metres ahead onto the Drymen road. The Astra took a left and accelerated.

  The car skidded and careered along the road causing others to take evasive action. The Astra braked hard before turning right up into a narrow track at short notice. The bike cruised up to the main junction at a safe distance. Max was close enough to see the car turning.

  Max looked left and noted where the silver car had turned off. When he reached the spot, thick black markings at the junction confirmed the location. There was a sign on either side of the narrow dirt track that Max now read
clearly, ‘Private Road—No Entry’.

  “Not any fuckin’ more,” Max muttered. He glanced over his shoulder as he steered into the next section of the chase. He continued at a slower speed than before. Replacing tarmac was a winding dirt and gravel track. High hedgerows on either side prevented any view to the sides, and the many bends blocked a good view. There was nowhere to turn, so the Astra was somewhere up ahead.

  Max slowed after one hundred metres when the dirt track became more grass than gravel. The road became a wide footpath. Tyre marks appeared on the grass verges on both sides. Up ahead, seen over the hedgerows was an old building.

  There was silence when Max stopped and switched off the engine. He dismounted and advanced on foot until he saw a rear corner of the Astra. He removed his helmet, and walked forward, listening. A car door slammed up ahead.

  Max tugged down the zipper on his jacket and pulled out the revolver from inside. It was an old Army issue weapon, but it gleamed like new in the sunshine. As Max reached a point where he could see up ahead, he noted the Astra parked outside what looked like an old manor house.

  The place was big and might have been impressive if it still had window panes instead of gaping apertures. Max stood up straight, and his eyes narrowed. All he had to do was walk right up there and blow the bastard away. Out here in such a desolate place, nobody would ever know.

  He took a few more steps and then only one hundred metres away from the magnificent ruin he stopped. Something he’d heard in strange circumstances came to mind. Max stepped back a few paces and leant into the hedgerow, out of sight of the house, but he was still able to keep an eye on the car.

  There was an indistinct shout from the ruin. Max looked at the gun and relished the moment he’d be able to show the asshole with the Astra how efficient the weapon was now. He backed in close against the foliage. Several small birds took flight.