by Tom Benson
.
King’s Park
Glasgow
Carol McGinley sat in her conservatory with a whiskey tumbler in her hand. It might be early in the evening, but she needed a drink. Her laptop sat open at her primary bank account which showed a balance of zero. She’d systematically gone through ten bank accounts, including offshore, and each one had been emptied.
“I’m not worth a fucking penny Mickey,” she said aloud. “I’ve lost everything you built up for us over the years.”
“Stand up,” a young woman said from the living room.
McGinley stood and turned, whiskey tumbler in her hand. “Who the fucking hell are you?”
“I’m not giving you the satisfaction.” The visitor wore black leathers and held an automatic pistol. The weapon had a long cylindrical suppressor fitted to the end of the barrel. She raised the gun, and from five yards, placed a single small hole in McGinley’s forehead.
By the time the glass tumbler had smashed on the tiled conservatory floor, the assassin had stooped to pick up the spent 9mm cartridge. The biker left through the side door. Two minutes later, a black Kawasaki purred along the street, passing a covert police car.
.
Western Infirmary
Glasgow
Rachel entered the hospital in the evening, during the final half-hour of visiting time. She wandered the corridors, her mind programmed towards her mission, and not a social occasion.
Doctors, nurses, and orderlies went about their business as usual. Without exception, as they passed Rachel, they either nodded or smiled at her. In return, she greeted them with a smile. Nobody would notice the smile didn’t reach her eyes.
Rachel carried a bible clasped in both hands held down to her front. She recalled advice Annabel had given her, ‘However you feel inside; you must deceive others—be in character.’
When Rachel arrived at the private room, she ignored the equipment with the flashing lights, buzzers, and switches. She gazed at the patient, but there would be no time for the luxury of a long, sentimental goodbye. As Rachel’s beautiful eyes glazed, she glanced at the patient’s condition chart. The line was close to the base and progressed beyond the double zero mark. The line had been drawn horizontally along the sheet.
For the past ten hours, the equipment had not repaired; it had maintained. It was performing exactly as the consultant had suggested it would.
Rachel’s eyes blinked rapidly as she took a final look at the man who had done so much in a relatively short life. “I love you, Jake—forgive me.”
Before Rachel was ten yards from the door of the room, two nurses and two doctors raced past her. Blue lanyards with small identity cards fluttered around the front of their bodies, and skilled hands held stethoscopes which moments before had been hanging casually around necks.
As Rachel turned into an adjacent corridor, she overheard one of the doctor’s cursing. The unprofessional sound of young shoulders charging against the wooden door echoed along the corridors. A high-pitched alarm sounded from a room.
.
The Bungalow
Lennoxtown
East Dunbartonshire
While Phil and Annabel were in New Zealand, they had been alerted by Sam Griffiths regarding the situation with the BTL team. He told them about the team’s request, and his decision to keep the authorities out of the conflict.
When Sam had called, the couple had been arranging a funeral for Annabel’s father who’d died the day before. A tropical storm in the Pacific region had affected all flights for forty-eight hours, which meant they took three days to return to the UK. By the time they touched down in Glasgow, the BTL team had suffered terrible losses.
“Annabel.” Phil turned away from the TV. “Come and check this out.”
“It’s Bothwell Street isn’t it?” Annabel approached from the kitchen.
“Yes, it’s the office block where we set up our HQ. The reporters have been moved further away from the incident tape to increase the police cordon area.”
“What are you thinking, Phil?”
“Judging by the way the cameras are zooming into the top windows, I’m hoping for a miracle. There are different possibilities. Either somebody from the dark side has achieved—”
Phil stopped when the reporter came on camera.
“This is Benny McGovern reporting for Scotland Today. I’m on Bothwell Street in Glasgow city centre where it appears a top floor office has suffered a catastrophic explosion.” The man turned and looked up as his cameraman obliged by panning upwards and focusing on the high level. None of the exterior structure appeared to be affected.
“There is some confusion about the nature of the explosion and the damage because all the windows on the top floor are intact. According to a spokesman for the Fire and Rescue Service, the windows should be shattered somewhere up there, but the damage seems to be contained within the building.”
Annabel lifted the telephone and pressed the button to scramble the call originator. She dialled a number.
Phil lowered the volume on the TV to zero. “Who are you calling?”
“At Sam’s barbecue before we left on our trip, do you remember the response when I asked what Jake or Rachel would do if one of them ever ended up in a particular condition?”
“I remember you said you had nightmares about you ever being in the same scenario—”
“Hello,” Annabel said. “I’m Doctor Munro, calling from St Thomas’s Hospital in London. I’ve been asked to check on the condition of one of your intensive care patients—Mr Jake Carter.”
Phil and Annabel stared deep into each other’s eyes for the next few seconds.
“Yes,” Annabel said. “I realise it’s not hospital policy, but I’m Mr Carter’s family doctor, with clearance to have updates on his progress. You’ll find a letter of authority has been faxed and will be at the desk ... thank you, I’m grateful.” She covered the mouthpiece to speak to Phil. “I have a young nurse who’s under pressure.”
Phil remained silent, but stood, unable to relax while they waited.
“Yes,” Annabel said brightly. She listened, closed her eyes and murmured, “Thank you.” She put the phone on the cradle and turned to embrace Phil who had stepped toward her. “We’ve lost him Phil, and I think we’ve lost Rachel too.” The veil of the professional assassin slipped as Annabel sobbed uncontrollably.
On Annabel’s shoulder, a warrior’s tears fell silently from her partner’s eyes.
The pair stood in the lounge, holding each other close; giving as much comfort as two retired trained killers were able. Jake had been much more than a colleague. He had been selected by Phil and Annabel, and he’d trained hard to prove himself. He’d taken severe punishment in his role before joining the British Army to emulate Phil—his hero.
Not only did Jake enlist into the Royal Engineers as Phil had done many years before, but he also went on to become a member of the elite Special Air Service. Jake had achieved what had once seemed impossible to him. Now, he was gone.
Until they were given details, they wouldn’t know if their worst fears were to be confirmed. Had they also lost Rachel, the young woman who had come so far, and in the end had been unabashed about her love and devotion to Jake.
.
Western Infirmary
Glasgow
Amy checked her mobile when it buzzed. “Hello, Boss. Yes, we’ve got it narrowed down to three suspects, but our money is on one character.” She listened to the response. “Yes, I can. We’re in the security room, but it’s only us.” Amy responded to the Chief’s request and switched on her phone’s loudspeaker, before turning down the volume.
“Is Eddie with you right now, Amy?” Sam Griffiths said.
“He nipped out to fetch us coffee, but he’ll be back any minute.”
“Okay, give me an outline of your three people.”
“First, we have a young guy in a leather jacket and jeans who will be easy to identify. He’s trying to run alo
ng the corridors of the hospital and appears to be staggering. Second, we have—”
The door opened, and Eddie backed in carrying two coffees and two chocolate bars.
Amy said, “The boss is on loudspeaker Eddie. Come in, and I’ll lock the door.” She stood and turned the catch.
“Hello again, Boss,” Amy said. “Second, we have a young woman dressed as a nurse. Finally, we have a nun.”
“A sister,” Sam said. “You mean like the religious black and white garb and a crucifix?”
“Yes,” Amy said, turning to shake her head at Eddie.
“Okay, well done you two,” Sam said. “Can you tell me briefly who your top suspect is and why?”
Amy said, “The young guy is in a hurry, but he’s physically all over the place, and Eddie is sure he’s a user, which means he might have tried to steal gear and somebody spotted him.”
“Right,” Sam said.
Amy said, “The nurse impressionist is wearing make-up, nail varnish, and a wristwatch.”
“Well done.” Sam’s voice held a hint of pride. “Is there anything else to rule her out?”
“We found her on two other cameras, picking pockets and bags of hospital visitors.”
“I take it you’ve already contacted hospital security.”
“Yes, we’ve alerted them to both the user and the fake nurse.”
“Right,” Sam said. “What about the nun?”
“I can’t put my finger on it, but there’s something irregular about her.”
“Okay, as a matter of urgency, I want you to bring a copy of the video to Pitt Street, for my eyes only, but before you do, I want you to make the scenes with the nun to be left in a less than perfect condition on the original.”
The two detectives exchanged a look of bewilderment.
“I’m sure you have your reasons, Boss—”
Eddie over-ruled her. “Understood, Boss—we’ll get it sorted.”
.
Police HQ
Pitt Street
Glasgow
“Come in you two and take a seat,” Sam Griffiths said.
DCI Malone and DI Hughes stepped inside and sat in the chairs indicated by their boss.
The Chief Constable closed the door and returned to his seat. “I take it you’ve both had the opportunity to sample our shit machine coffee while you’ve been waiting?”
“Yes, Boss,” Amy said.
Eddie nodded and recalled many times working as Sam’s protégé. Sam hated the station coffee machines.
Sam said, “I’ve had a look at the footage, and I’m satisfied with my decision. I’m sure you’re both wondering what the bloody hell I’m talking about.”
The two detectives exchanged a blank look.
Sam pressed play on the video machine, and the small monitor in the corner of the office burst into life. Footage of the bogus nun walking along the hospital corridors appeared.
Both Eddie and Amy squinted as they watched, and tried to see if the Chief had spotted something they’d missed.
Sam paused the tape and zoomed in to the woman’s face. The features weren’t crystal clear, but a detail became obvious which the two detectives had not noticed previously.
“She’s crying.” Amy turned to the Chief.
Sam clicked the remote, and the tape rolled again. The tears on the nun’s face were more evident when she walked under a set of fluorescent lights. Sam stopped the machine and sat back in his chair.
“Eddie, would you fix us up fresh coffees please?” Sam nodded to the corner of his office.
Eddie stood and smiled as he organised three brews from the Chief’s percolator.
Sam said, “This is the reason I wanted you two guys to deal with the incident as soon as I got the report. This is why I wanted control of the recording.” He lifted a white envelope from his drawer, removed a business card and dropped both on his desk. He nodded for them to take a look.
Eddie said, “This reminds me of a case we covered in the past, but it’s your name and rank on the envelope this time instead of mine.”
“Did the business card come inside the envelope?” Amy lifted the card by the edges.
“It did,” Sam said. “What do you see on there?”
Amy stared at the card. “The graphic is small, purple flowers surrounded by dark green leaves. A couple of words in Latin at the bottom.” She turned the card over and read aloud.
“An explosive clearance. An execution. A blessed release. A new mission.” She shook her head and handed the card to Eddie.
Eddie stared at the image and turned the card over. He looked at Sam. “When did you get this, Boss?”
Delivered by hand an hour before the Bothwell Street explosion.”
“An hour before?” Amy said.
Sam nodded and looked from one of his detectives to the other.
“Did we get CCTV footage of the messenger?” Eddie said.
“Yes. A young woman in police uniform handed it in at the reception desk.”
“The officer number on her epaulettes will give us her identity.” Amy smiled.
“The number would help if it weren’t fake,” Sam said.
“Do we know what the message means by execution?” Amy said.
“When I heard the explosion was entirely controlled within a block and didn’t affect any other business or life, I had to consider options, and I made a call to somebody.” He dragged out the information, obviously enjoying himself. “After I’d confirmed my suspicions about the explosion I contacted our covert officer outside Mrs McGinley’s house.” He smiled. “He couldn’t do anything for her.”
“If you don’t mind me saying so,” Eddie said. “You don’t seem fazed by any of this.”
Sam lifted the business card. “Do either of you know what those flowers are?”
Both detectives shook their heads.
“Atropa Belladonna—it’s written across the bottom.”
The two officers shook their heads, and both raised an eyebrow, acknowledging the boss had one over on them.
“I’ll explain right after I’ve made a phone call.” He placed the card on his desk and dialled a number. The person on the other end responded quickly.
“Hi, Phil—it’s Sam, mate.” The Chief winked at his two detectives.
.
The Bungalow
Lennoxtown
East Dunbartonshire
“Phil,” Annabel whispered while she reached under her pillow. She turned to check the time; 04:30. “We’ve got a visitor.” As she slipped out from under the duvet, Annabel raised her right hand, so her Beretta pointed upwards. By the time she reached the bedroom door, Phil was alongside her, gripping his trusty Browning 9mm.
Phil tapped Annabel’s shoulder with his left hand and indicated himself with his thumb. He opened his palm to show she should wait and follow him. She nodded and stepped back.
As her naked partner stepped into the hallway with the stealth of a wild animal, Annabel couldn’t prevent a grin. How many men would get out of bed and move through the house to greet an intruder, while carrying a loaded automatic, but with no clothes on?
Annabel wore a short black negligee, so was dressed; after a fashion. She followed Phil along the hallway and stood back as he cleared the kitchen diner at the back of the house. Phil moved forward and eased open the door of the multi-gym. Nothing. He moved on to the spare room and checked the en-suite. He advanced, checked the bathroom, turned and shook his head.
Phil tried the door to the basement where they maintained a small armoury. He held up his hand once again and stepped forward inch by inch to the spacious lounge which overlooked the large front garden.
Both of them glanced at the small tea-light candle burning in a container on the marble coffee table. The tea-light had been lit by the intruder because Annabel wouldn’t leave one burning, and if she did, it wouldn’t have lasted all night.
The pair stood near the table, and the tiny flickering flame created an eerie glow o
ver their bodies. Phil stared out of the lounge window towards the long driveway and hedgerow which led to the country road fifty yards distant. The full moon crept out from behind one of the few clouds. It created the silver lining often seen on a clear night.
“Phil,” Annabel said and handed him a business card with a picture of small purple flowers surrounded by dark leaves. In the strange, flickering light, Annabel’s features brightened.
“What is it?” Phil turned the card over to see ‘R xx’, on an otherwise plain white side.
“Atropa Belladonna.” Annabel turned to look out of the window.
“Nightshade?” Phil queried, and his brow furrowed.
“Deadly Nightshade,” Annabel said, and her lips curled slightly, as she pointed out towards a silhouette at the end of the driveway.
The dark shape of a motorcycle and rider were being highlighted by the moon.
Both Phil and Annabel raised their left hands and waved in greeting. They were confident they’d be seen because of the flickering tea-light down in front of them.
The mysterious rider’s right arm raised, and the fingers touched the helmet visor briefly. A few seconds later the motorbike lights flicked on, a low rumble sounded, and the Kawasaki headed off into the beckoning day and the rider’s future.
**The End**
Epilogue
The deaths of the people inside Fort Etive were attributed to the inter-gang rivalry, instigated by the widow, Carol McGinley.
Although motorbike tracks were found in various places near the scene of the mass murder, it was reported by a police spokesperson that a biker rally might have been arranged, but the riders had moved on when they saw the recent devastation and fatalities.
