by Tom Benson
“Lenny went into prison not knowing his eighteen-year-old wife was pregnant—”
“With Peter,” Ian nodded his understanding. “So he comes from a long line of crazy bastards?”
Annabel nodded. “Lenny’s wife had twins; Peter and Nadia.”
“Don’t tell me the sister is involved in the family business too?”
“She was as bad as him apparently, but she disappeared from the face of the Earth a few years ago,” Annabel said. “Hopefully she made a new life in another country.”
“Right,” Ian said. “Let me see if I’ve got my head around this. At some stage in the late ’80s and early ’90s Glasgow’s underworld was ruled over by Henderson, aka Hartley in the north, and by McGinley in the south.” He paused. The north fell apart when you removed Hartley, but McGinley was content to maintain his hold on the south?”
“In a nutshell,” Annabel said. “Rachel will now bring us right up to date with Peter Henderson’s activities.”
17. Information Exchange
“Okay.” Rachel turned to address Ian. “Peter Henderson is the new boy on the block and is out to make a name.” She nodded towards the two faces on the screen. “It looks like he believes he has the bad blood of the family.”
Ian asked, “What has he been up to?”
“I first saw him as he was leaving the scene of a shooting in March this year.”
“Was the target anybody special?”
“He was special to the rest of the guys in the Mental Riders Motor Cycle Club.”
“Well, it tells me Henderson has a death-wish.”
“He shot Joe Bremner in front of Joe’s older brother, Max. He then turned the gun on Max, but it jammed. It was then I turned up on my bike, but Henderson wouldn’t have known who was riding towards him. He got away in a 4 x 4, so I couldn’t tackle him.”
“He’s still a dead man walking if the other biker survived,” Ian said.
“The plot thickens,” Rachel said. “Last week we prevented an ambush intended to take out Max and some of his gang. Henderson escaped again, but we learned from two survivors he has contacts and serious funds.”
“Those ‘bikers in black’ reported on the news—are they part of the biker gang?”
“No. It was those two I had a chat with,” Rachel said. “They’re a pair of ex-soldiers who were hired by Henderson and paid well. They thought they were working for us because they were wiping out drug dealers.”
“What made them think they were working for you guys?” Ian glanced across at the impassive expressions on Phil and Annabel’s faces.
Rachel said, “Henderson said he was the elusive Hawk.”
“I see. I suppose if nobody outside this room knows what Hawk looks like, those guys would have been none the wiser.”
“Correct,” Rachel said. “Henderson had the killings and other incidents to put the squeeze on successful independent dealers.” She glanced across at Phil and Annabel. “We don’t think Henderson is a planner, so he’s probably a puppet for somebody who is a planner. Whoever it is, wants a much bigger slice of the action.”
Ian said, “Are the guys in the motorcycle club part of your organisation?”
Rachel smiled and caught Phil grinning. “Not yet.”
Phil said, “I’ve yet to arrange a meeting with Max.”
Jake agreed. “They would be a formidable asset, and for so many reasons.”
Rachel said, “A biker’s allegiance is to his brethren, but we might have an edge.”
Ian said, “I know bikers have a strong sense of honour, so you’re probably right.”
“It was Max’s life Rachel saved in March,” Annabel said, “and a few days ago it was pure luck for Max to call Rachel first. If he’d called the gang, there would have been a slaughter. The clubhouse landline had been cut, but he would have used his mobile.”
Ian was nodding slowly. “You’re pretty certain about Max being the bait?”
“Yes,” Annabel said. “Henderson bears all the hallmarks of somebody out to show he’s capable of greater things.” She paused. “The bikers would have turned up for a fight and been cut to ribbons by machine-guns.”
“I haven’t seen many police statements about this stuff.”
Phil said, “We have a rather special contact in the Police HQ.”
Rachel said, “I could fill in about my meeting at the end of the session.”
“Sounds good,” Phil said.
“You couldn’t write this stuff,” Ian said. “I know Glasgow has a big reputation regarding everything from teenage gang culture to vigilantism, but this whole scene is beyond the reports. You guys are awesome.”
“It’s all very real,” Annabel said.
“Jake,” Phil said. “Could you remind us of your recent mission, please?”
“First of all,” Jake said, “I’ll relate what you guys need to know.” He looked around at the others, and as he expected, he received nods of understanding.
“There were several aspects to the task, but the main one was to extricate this guy here from a hairy situation.” He indicated Ian by jerking a thumb in his direction. “My team had a specific date and time to make our move because three operations were going down across Colombia.”
Rachel’s brow furrowed. “How did you manage to get Ian out at an exact time?”
“The three teams were hitting locations simultaneously, within a one-hour window. Whichever team struck first had to call in. My team were in a lying-up position close to the jungle lab for forty-eight hours, and then we moved closer on the target day.” He paused for a moment. “We saw some horrendous things in the time we were there, but we couldn’t intervene. It would have compromised the overall mission.” He glanced towards Ian on his right. “It would also have endangered Ian’s life.”
Rachel had gained a lot of experience on Glasgow’s streets. She had seen plenty of action movies and read books about Special Forces, but as she listened to Jake, it brought it home to her how the films and books didn’t exaggerate. Questions were consuming her.
She said, “I don’t want to sound heartless Jake, but could you give us any examples?” She looked around the table. “I’m sorry, I’m the only one here not experienced in those conditions.”
“I’ll give you two examples,” Jake said. “Then you might understand why I’m here unofficially to lend a hand.” He continued. “Shortly after moving closer to the lab, we witnessed a father being made to choose which of his teenage sons were to die. The father denied the accusation, but the two gunmen said he’d passed information to the authorities about the coca plantation and shipments.”
“Oh my God,” Rachel said.
“The man volunteered to die, but he was told to choose one son, or they would both die. He chose one, but the gangsters shot both anyway.” Jake paused. “Shortly before we got Ian out; we saw a man fed to piranha fish.”
Rachel closed her eyes. “I’m sorry.” She dashed to the facilities corridor covering her mouth with a hand. Even before the door swung shut the others heard her puking. Nobody spoke in her absence. When she returned, she sat again and reached out to touch Jake’s hand.
Jake’s face lost all expression for a moment as he stared at the table and murmured. “It was during the exfiltration phase when we lost Colin.”
A few seconds passed where there was no sound but people breathing.
Jake continued, “As I mentioned previously, one of the people at the lab was our old enemy, Martin Cameron. I didn’t recognise him at first because of the beard, but Phil gave him a limp a few years ago, and I was suspicious.”
“Did he have anything to do with the atrocities?” Rachel asked, now angry and no longer upset.
“It was at his suggestion the Colombian’s made the father choose which son to die.”
“Bastard,” Rachel said and took several deep and rapid breaths.
Jake said, “Cameron’s true identity became a concern when I got chatting to Ian later. I’ll let Ian
tell you what he knows.” Jake looked across at Phil. “Cameron killed Colin.”
Phil nodded slowly, his expression grim.
Ian turned from Jake and looked across to Phil, who nodded for him to continue.
“I owe my life to this man and his team,” Ian said and nodded to Jake. “I know the SAS put their actions down to doing their job, but it’s different to what people hear about publicly.” He sipped his coffee. “Colin will not have died in vain—I promise you.”
“Before I arrived at Stuart’s department on my return, I worked for MI6. As much as we handle the training and preparation, there is a deep-seated fear when you find yourself out on a limb with bloody nutcases like the drug cartels.” He looked around at the others and knew at least three of them understood.
“My primary task was to infiltrate their team. Once accepted, I had to monitor their international operation. If I were uncovered, they would have killed me—end of story.”
Rachel said, “How long did it take to get integrated with them?”
“From my arrival into the country to being offered the job took about two months. I had to build up a brief history working in the trade, but I had help with it of course. There was a fake file set up about me in the US and with the European authorities.”
It took Ian ten minutes to give a rapid rundown of his early time in South America, and how he managed to work his way into the drug processing team as a chemist in the jungle. His dark hair and complexion helped him to pass as a Spaniard, but his linguistic skills, chemistry qualifications and supposed greed for money, were the factors providing his ideal cover.
He managed to learn a lot in one month in the jungle and then found out the lab was to be closed down. The production tended to move on regularly. He got his final opportunity to send a message on 20th June. In the evening, the gangsters conducted one of their search and scan routines.
Again, Rachel asked a question. “How did you manage to communicate, but avoid getting caught?”
“Those of us working as chemists were expected to spend our time in the jungle, but the gangsters still searched us; trusting nobody completely. They used an airport-style wand that emitted a signal to deactivate any electrical device.”
“I had a homing device in one of my dental fillings, so it only had to work until I was in my working location. Our people knew if it went dead, it either meant I was caught, or the device had been electronically disabled. Two days after I arrived at the lab, I found a mark on a nearby tree that let me know I had a phone buried there.”
“A mark on a tree,” Rachel said, raising her eyebrows, “in a jungle?”
Ian laughed. “I knew it would be to the north of my location, and within ten metres. I just had to hope the local asset making the delivery could navigate.”
Rachel shook her head, stunned by the measures and the level of trust.
As Ian recalled his mission, the BTL team could see it was with great relief it was only two days after his message when he was ‘captured’ by the SAS team. For the benefit of Ian’s cover, all four chemists on the shift had been taken away. Ian briefly mentioned the tragic loss of Colin but didn’t elaborate. Jake had asked him not to detail the topic.
“How did Cameron become involved?” Rachel asked.
“The guests like him were reckoned to become big-time buyers of the product, but from their first contact they travelled from one location to another blindfolded.” He toyed with his pen. “When you see them up close, those guys are all crazy. Life means nothing.”
“Each week a different person toured the coca plantation. They would be brought to the lab to oversee the process, but never shown how the product was transported to the docks or the airport.” He paused. “The frightening aspect of the whole affair was the number of nationalities involved.”
“How many British criminals were visiting?” Rachel asked.
“I was only watching out for British clients, and out of all the people I saw, there was one Brit.” He turned to Rachel. “It was Gordon Fitzpatrick—the man you guys know as Martin Cameron. Now, of course, we know he could be calling himself anything.”
Phil intervened at this point. “Which is where we came into it?”
“Yes,” Ian said. “Jake gave me an unofficial debrief before my session back in London. He told me there were friends of his who’d be keen to hear more. During my debriefing, I was introduced to Stuart Fowler. He slipped a card in my pocket; we chatted later, and here I am, at your service.”
Annabel said, “Did you pass on the name Fitzpatrick to your superiors in MI6?”
Ian shook his head. “No. As you will know better than anybody else here, if you work with intelligence it’s never a good idea to hand over all your information, even to your superiors.”
Rachel looked from one to the other. “Am I missing something?”
Ian said, “When Jake told me about his interest in the bearded guy back in the jungle, I agreed to have selective amnesia on my official debrief. I told my superiors there was a British guy, but he was a Londoner, and I told them I never heard a name.”
Annabel nodded. “Do you know why Stuart asked to speak to you?”
“Yes. He knew I was withholding information, which he confirmed later. He told me about Jake leaving your team a few years ago to join the army. Stuart has kept a close eye on Jake’s career. When Stuart heard about Jake’s mission he realised, I was the package.”
“It’s a small world,” Rachel murmured, causing smiles around the table.
Phil and Annabel both knew Stuart very well since it was his department that bankrolled the BTL operations. In the distant past, Stuart had partnered Annabel on covert operations, and he’d been rescued by Phil.
Phil said, “When Jake first met up with us on his return he told us about Cameron ... or Fitzpatrick, mentioning a castle. Did you ever hear Fitzpatrick talk about a castle?”
“Yes,” Ian said and grinned. “He was in the lab, chatting to the four of us who worked in there. He didn’t think any of us could speak much English, and he boasted to us about going back to his homeland; to his castle. As he was laughing at us labouring with processing the coke, he told us he was going to be the new Godfather.”
“It all fits,” Phil said. “He had those ambitions before being jailed.”
Jake said, “I seem to remember when I paid my visit to the house in Kirkintilloch a few years ago our man had a wife.” He looked at his colleagues. “Does anybody have any information on her?”
“She left the country,” Annabel said. “I checked at the time of Cameron’s sentencing. His wife set off to their villa in Spain within days.” She nodded to her protégé.
Rachel said, “I’ve already been over and made some enquiries, but we could do with a follow-up.”
Annabel said, “Ian, your cover story was that you were Spanish. How do you fancy a trip abroad?”
“I’ll be happy to get involved in any way I can.” He met their gazes. “I’d like to prove my worth to the team.”
Rachel said, “It might work in our favour since I already know the immediate area, and with Ian’s linguistic skills, we’d be fine.”
Annabel smiled. “I’d be happier if there were two of you over there?”
Phil said, “I suppose it would give us a foothold as we try to trace them over here, just in case they meet in Spain before returning.”
Jake asked, “What do we know about the wife?”
“As a teenager, she was a nasty piece of work,” Annabel said. “She had been a member of a gang of girls before she managed to get a job in a casino, which was where she met her man. Lorraine, as the wife was known back then, had left the gang behind and became a gold-digger. She was a hard bitch but attractive, so she hit it off with Cameron.”
“Right then,” Phil said. “Before anybody goes anywhere, I need you to set me up a couple of meetings Rachel.”
“I will,” she said. “On the subject of meetings, I found out something interestin
g when I had dinner with our contact from Pitt Street. She was invited out to Balloch to be asked her opinion at the scene of recent multiple shootings.” She grinned. “She said she’s going to soften up any inquiries that bring our group into focus.”
“Good,” Phil said. “Okay, we’ll look at tasks. Ian will accompany Rachel on her follow-up visit to Spain. Jake will meet up with one of the two ex-soldiers who were at the manor house. I’ll meet with Max, and if you would Annabel, you could go and have a chat with Stella.”
Annabel smiled. “I’ll ask her to check out the expensive property sales over the last couple of years.”
“Why check only expensive property sales?” Ian asked.
“Castles,” Annabel said. “Stella might not sell them, but she’s worked in the property game for a few years, and she’ll have contacts.” She paused. “We’re pretty sure when Fitzpatrick says he’s coming back to his castle—he means it.”
18. Relationships
.
Monday 5th July
Isle of Skye
Scotland
At 8 am, Gordon Fitzpatrick was in his Jaguar looking out across the passing, rugged landscape towards the wild expanse of the Atlantic Ocean. His wife was driving them west across the Isle of Skye. Fitzpatrick had remained unusually quiet since his return to Scotland.
“Gordon,” his wife said, still trying to get accustomed to saying his new name. “Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”
“What do you need to know?”
“Tell me anything for crying out loud. We’ve been back together since Friday, but you’ve spent more time alone than with me.”
“I didn’t ask what you want to know my dear,” he said. “I asked what you need to know.” He turned to look at the ocean again. “I’ve got plans to execute,” he said and turned to look at her again. “There’s a lot to deal with, so the whole operation works smoothly.”
Helen Fitzpatrick concentrated on her driving for fifteen minutes, powering the large car around winding bends, braking to avoid the sheep that were wandering the remote roads in the hills. She looked sideways at her husband several times without speaking, but she too had things on her mind, and she was worried.
