by Tom Benson
A few minutes after Ian and Eva left to follow up on threads of information, Jake and Rachel worked separately on their notes.
Jake returned to the table having made a fresh brew.
“Here you go,” he said. “Coffee will get those brain cells working overtime.”
“Thanks,” she said and touched his hand as she smiled up at him.
“I’m not going to pry,” Jake said, “but from the quiet chats you and Annabel had at the barbecue, I guess you two have each other’s confidence?”
“You’re getting more like Phil,” she said and shook her head. “He seems to have a sixth sense for knowing what’s going on in other people’s minds.”
Before sitting, Jake bent down and kissed Rachel’s cheek. “I’m like Phil in two ways. I’ll never fully understand women, and I’ve got a beautiful girlfriend.” He laughed as he took his seat and continued working.
Rachel grinned and shook her head. For a moment she stared at her notes but thought of her idol and mentor. Rachel knew a little of Annabel’s history and why her parents had not been in touch for many years.
Annabel had been an attractive fourteen-year-old and attended boarding school in Europe. While in the privacy of a language tutor’s study, the man made the mistake of trying to physically abuse the trusting teenager. In Annabel’s efforts to prevent being raped, the man was rewarded with a sharpened pencil thrust deep into his ear; which killed him.
At the inquiry a few days later, Annabel was disowned by her parents, and at the end of her formal education, she made a life of her own. As a teenager, while training with the Army Cadet Force, she was talent-spotted and interviewed by the Secret Intelligence Service. In a short time, her potential was realised, and she was trained for covert operations.
Unlike her parents, with age, Annabel had learned to forgive. She told Rachel and Jake she’d make the trip to visit her dying father, and Phil would be by her side.
.
Glasgow Green
Glasgow
Martina Crawford strolled through the massive park with a faint smile on her lips as she thought back to her activities in the morning. As always, she remained aware of every person around her. She walked towards the area where the river flowed past the southern edge of the park, but she’d already spotted her target.
She paused at the metal fence near the St Andrew’s Suspension Bridge, and gazed across the river at the Gorbals district for a moment, before turning to face the park. A few feet away sitting on a bench, his nerves in tatters, was the suited figure of Gregor Findlay MSP; a Member of the Scottish Parliament.
“Don’t follow me straight away,” Crawford said as she sauntered past, and surveyed the many paths crisscrossing the park. “Meet me upstairs in the People’s Palace in fifteen minutes.” She glanced at the politician’s face, smirked, and strolled towards the venue.
Findlay turned to watch the elegant walk of the woman in the summer dress with the jacket over her arm. Even though his insides were in turmoil, he couldn’t help fantasising about the woman who presently controlled him like a puppet. She was deadly, but she was also beautiful. He checked his watch.
Fourteen minutes later, Findlay walked up the wide, ornate staircase within the People’s Palace. Before he reached the upper floor, he became aware of the sounds of the interactive displays. Voices and music from Glasgow’s past filled the air.
The MSP turned left to see a family of four admiring paintings and drawings. Findlay paused for a moment and turned right. The Mistress stood there, a few yards away reading a vivid description of how the city developed and became a sprawling industrial centre after WWII. Findlay sidled up to her and stared unseeing at the display. He saw her check her watch.
“Maintain your obedience to the standard of your punctuality,” Crawford whispered. “If you do, the pressure will ease.”
Findlay saw the woman slipping a small notepad from her shoulder bag. The notebook was held up as if she was writing, but it was for the man to see.
“I don’t know if I’ll be able to source something like this quickly,” Findlay said. “It’s peculiar.”
“I’ll be in touch with you on Wednesday afternoon,” Crawford said. “If I’m specific with my requests, it saves you having to overthink.”
“How will you get in touch?”
“Read your emails in private on Wednesday afternoon at four o’clock, and please don’t insult my intelligence by obscuring your camera or the condenser microphone.”
“I might have an interruption.”
“Why do you think I want the camera lens kept clear?”
“So you can see my expression or if somebody is with me?”
“Oh, you should be so lucky. When you check your emails, your private office door will be locked.”
“Why would I lock it? I never lock my door when I’m at work.”
“Yes, but you’re not generally naked when you check your emails.”
Findlay’s face turned ashen, and his lips parted.
Crawford said, “I want you to log in and stand in front of the machine, so I know you’re complying. Don’t bullshit me.”
“Wouldn’t it be easier to use a phone?” He was panting in his desperation.
“If you don’t thank me right now and go away, I’ll change your instructions.”
Findlay closed his eyes and swallowed. “Thank you,” he said, and he saw her eyebrow rise. “Mistress,” he mumbled.
Crawford half-turned to look over her shoulder and turned back to hold Findlay’s gaze, but it wasn’t all she held.
The politician gasped when he felt a firm hand grip his arousal through the front of his suit trousers.
“I thought so.” Crawford winked. “Maybe one day I’ll let you thank me in a more personal way.” Dimples appeared on her cheeks. “Now fuck off and get busy.”
Findlay’s face beamed as he made his way through the museum’s visitors. He glanced back, and she was watching him. Fuck it—now she knew how bad he had it for her. The submissive side of him recognised his Mistress would despise him for his weakness, and he knew it would feed her desire to control him. Findlay knew he was on a sinking ship, and he wasn’t wearing the Captain’s hat.
.
Wednesday 29th September
King’s Park
Glasgow
McGinley spent an hour going through files on the laptop, and thanks to the lessons Simpson gave her she could locate information quickly. Until he’d showed her how to find and gain access to programmes and accounts, she’d used Callum. It was frustrating to depend on the teenage gang member because she couldn’t let him view anything in detail.
At 10 am, the widow sat alone when the landline rang. The system clicked to check the caller and said ‘Unknown Caller’ before it cut off. It happened again fifteen minutes later. At 11 am, when her mobile phone rang, McGinley had been wondering if it was Simpson trying to contact her, so he was on her mind.
Instead of checking the caller and giving her usual curt response she picked up the mobile phone and reacted out of character. “Hello, Brian?” The line went dead. McGinley was convinced she’d heard breathing on the line.
“Fuck you,” she said and slammed the phone down on the table.
At 11:15 am, McGinley’s mobile phone rang again, but she took a deep breath and checked the caller ID before responding. It stated, ‘Big Man’ on the screen, so she pressed the loudspeaker.
“Hello, are you there Carol?”
“Aye, Brian. Were you trying to call me earlier?”
“No, I’ve been driving for the last hour.”
“You haven’t tried to ring me on the landline or this number?”
“No, I pulled into a cafe about five minutes ago, and I’m waiting for a hot meal. Is there a problem?”
“Nah, it will probably have been one of them nuisance cold-callers.” She didn’t believe it.
“I’m on my way to check out a location, but I’ll email you in about two hours. I
don’t want to mention any details on here.”
“Okay, I’ll wait until after lunch before I check the messages.”
“Do you remember the code name I’ll use in the subject line?”
“Aye, I’ve written it into a document. I made up a file and listed all my passwords and things like you suggested. I’ll never remember them all otherwise.”
“Have you got rid of the notebook in which you listed those details?”
“It’s hidden upstairs, but I’ll burn it tomorrow. I’ve double-checked the information is all listed. Tomorrow the book will go onto the barbecue.”
“Good,” he said. “Right, my snack is here, so I’ll be in touch later.”
“Bye, Brian.” The line went dead.
McGinley resisted going on her laptop until 2 pm. She had a few calls to make so made them her priority. She looked forward to finding out what Brian had been doing.
She logged into her Inbox and found several messages, but the one which stood out was sent at 12:50 pm and the subject was ‘Round Table.' She grinned as she opened the message.
‘Hi, Carol. I’ve been on the go for two days. I’ve found a place which I think will be ideal for meetings and suchlike as we discussed. It’s the fourth place I’ve checked out, but it looks good. I’ll be in touch again tonight. Big Man.’
McGinley wanted to let him see she’d taken in some of his guidance. She hit the Reply button and sent back a brief message.
‘Thanks, Big Man. Look forward to hearing more. C.’ She hit Send and closed the machine down.
In the evening, McGinley opened the laptop and worked her way through the files again to the best of her ability. Her greatest problem was remembering to close down one programme or file before opening another. Mickey had invested in a decent machine so it could deal with multiple applications simultaneously, but Simpson had said it was always safer to use one programme at a time.
A few whiskeys before bedtime and McGinley reminisced about the good times with Mental Mickey. They were good times in her memory, but for many of the men and women who’d crossed either of them, they were dreadful times. She grinned as she recalled callous sessions of torture. It occurred to her, she had yet to check on her emails again.
“Here we go, Carol,” she muttered and powered up the laptop. Her fingers didn’t hit the keys as accurately as they had earlier, mainly thanks to her bedtime tipple. As she tried to type her password, she recalled her new friend and employee Brian, laughing at the idea she preferred a couple of whiskeys to a cup of cocoa before heading to bed.
When she eventually gained access to her mail, she squinted to see the new messages. One of them had the subject ‘Round Table 2’, while the other said ‘Round Table: Two’.
“Why has he sent it with two headings?” she asked an empty room. She considered calling him to ask which one he’d sent, but then in the perfect world provided by her whiskey, she opted to open one of the messages. She chose ‘Round Table: Two’ and thought it a better layout than only using a number.
‘Hello Carol, Please check the attached photo.’
“You’re a strange man, Brian,” McGinley muttered. She sipped her drink. “One minute it’s ‘Hi’ and then the next it’s ‘Hello,' and ‘please’ as well.” She laughed and moved the cursor down to the attachment and clicked.
The screen filled with a graphic of a brick wall. Several cartoon men in suits walked across the screen and lined up. Above their heads, painted on the wall in red, ‘Remember St. Valentine’s Day?’
While McGinley was reading the question, from the speaker came the sound of rapid firing. The cartoon men sprouted holes all over their bodies. First there were holes in the bodies, then the ground, and the wall filled with the colour red. The whole screen became red. The mystified woman stared at the screen. Superimposed in white on the crimson came the words, ‘Thank you’. The screen went blank.
“What the fuck?” McGinley said, and she remembered what Brian told about her ever seeing such a thing. She had to switch off, but how? There was no button on the screen.
“Bastard.” She did what Mickey once said would be the emergency shutdown. She held down the power button until the machine went dead.
8. Possible Answers
.
Thursday 30th September
Yoker
Glasgow
Rachel and Jake enjoyed a gentle run, followed by a shower to start the day. They sat across the table from each other enjoying breakfast and listening to the radio.
“What’s the best part about living with me?” Rachel watched her man’s expression.
“You mean apart from the great company, the amazing sex, and looking at you?”
“I was serious.”
“So was I.” He winked. “I suppose having an almost regular lifestyle.”
“What’s the worst part?”
“Seeing you sometimes drift off into your darker memories,” he said. “And, of course, knowing you put yourself in danger far too often.”
Rachel lifted her cup with both hands and stared at him over the rim and sipped tea.
“Same questions back at you,” Jake said.
“Same answers.” She reached out a hand to hold his.
A revving motorbike sounded from Rachel’s phone, which danced across the table. She glanced at the caller, her brow furrowed, and she hit the speaker button as she met Jake’s gaze.
“Hey Max,” Rachel said. “I’ve got you on speaker and Jake’s with me.”
“Hi guys,” the biker said, but in a less animated tone than usual. “I got to the club this morning early to work out plans for a ride over to Brussels, but it’s on hold now.”
“Go on,” Rachel said.
Max said he’d prefer to explain in person.
Rachel said she and Jake would meet him in fifteen minutes at the emergency RV. She reminded him to be armed, accompanied, and vigilant. Rachel suggested none of the bikers should go anywhere alone until the mystery had been solved.
.
BTL Enterprises
Glasgow
“We didn’t have to wait long for the next move,” Rachel said, addressing Ian and Eva. Jake sat beside her in silence.
“You guys don’t look happy,” Ian said. “What happened?”
“We had a breakfast call from Max this morning,” Rachel said. “He turned up at the clubhouse expecting to find Snake already there. Instead, Max found a package waiting for him.” She took a deep breath, turned and met Jake’s gaze, and announced their news. “The box contained Snake’s helmet.”
“Do you think he’s been taken?” Eva asked.
“No, we think he’s dead,” Rachel said.
“He could have been abducted,” Ian said. “Perhaps it’s a scare tactic to keep the bikers out of any future action.”
“Unfortunately, it’s not the case,” Jake said. “The helmet was covered in blood, inside and out. Whoever is responsible knows exactly what they’re doing, and to a biker gang this isn’t a scare tactic, it’s a tease.”
“The best way to unbalance the bikers is to make them angry,” Rachel said. “We’ve done our best to calm Max, but we know he’ll have a terrible job trying to convince the other members of the gang.”
“Do we contact the police on this before a body is discovered?” Ian asked.
“I’ve already contacted Sam Griffiths,” Jake said. “He’ll wait to see if the bikers report the incident. In the meantime, he’s getting in touch with Eddie and Amy, who are over in Vancouver. We’ll get a call if anything relevant is discovered.”
.
King’s Park
Glasgow
McGinley finished breakfast and sat in her spacious conservatory with a large mug of strong tea. Her laptop was open on the table in front of her, but following her experience of the previous night, she wasn’t happy about switching on. McGinley had considered calling Callum to ask his advice but didn’t like telling him too much. Watching the birds in the garden squabb
ling over fresh seed felt like the most relaxing thing she could do.
McGinley tried to call Simpson three times from eight o’clock. Time marched on, and she felt like a prisoner in her home. Since Mickey’s death, the widow had hardly been near the tenement flat her husband had preferred. Carol McGinley had always wanted a big detached house with a driveway. She lived in it in the belief she could evade the intrusive eyes of the police. In recent times the boys in blue had discovered the house.
One morning McGinley looked down from her bedroom window and wondered how much it cost the taxpayer to have a car or van parked along the street all day; every day. McGinley had gone out the back door as a test. She went through the paths between the neighbouring properties and stepped out into an avenue two-hundred yards away from her house.
At the entrance to a back lane, a man in a tracksuit stood using his mobile phone. He’d glanced at McGinley and smiled, wishing her a good morning. Yes, it was a quiet neighbourhood, but he’d blown his cover because strangers in this neighbourhood didn’t wish you a good morning. McGinley had wondered at the time if the greeting was accidental or intentional.
“Fuck it,” she said. McGinley switched on her laptop. Two minutes later she gazed at her regular desktop screen. Whatever had happened the night before didn’t seem to have caused any lasting damage. She went to her Inbox.
McGinley scrolled up and down the messages, but there was no mention of ‘Round Table’ with a figure 2, or with the word Two. She tapped the Trash and Spam, but they were both cleared. McGinley couldn’t remember getting rid of any of the information. Did they empty themselves automatically, she wondered. She closed the Inbox, promising herself, she’d recheck her mail later.
At 11 am, McGinley’s mobile phone rang. She checked the caller ID to find ‘Big Man’, but before she could accept the call, it went dead. It happened again two minutes later, so she decided to get back to her laptop, believing he might have sent a message.
