by Les Haswell
He wandered to the back of the castle site, mainly to act like Bob Chapman, the tourist. He gazed across the water. The sea held little marine traffic to the west of Achravie; most of it passed between Arran and the Ayrshire coast. Ships headed for Port Glasgow, Ardrossan and Hunterston. Unseen nuclear submarines navigated in and out of the submarine base at Faslane, home of the UK’s Trident nuclear missile fleet.
He walked along a pebbly coastal path and rounded the next headland, where he came across a tiny cove with a small jetty. The jetty was bigger than he remembered and through the binoculars he could see where it had been extended fairly recently. Sitting at the jetty was a fair-sized fishing boat and, beside it, a white Achravie Estate Land Cruiser.
Deciding to take a closer look, Rob made his way back round the headland till he was out of sight of the jetty. He scrambled down a steep path to another small inlet, and made his careful way back round to the little bay that housed the jetty.
He climbed as far as he thought prudent and slowly raised his head above the rocks. Four men sat at the bow of the boat; two were drinking from large white mugs and one was smoking a cigarette. They were engaged in light conversation, the man with the cigarette chatting and gesturing, while the others laughed.
Rob was too far away to grasp the conversation, but he could hear enough to know that they were Eastern European. They seemed relaxed, which was understandable; the only people who would see them would be tourists and they’d think nothing of seeing a small boat moored at a jetty.
Rob could tell from the demeanour and dress that two of the men were from Achravie Estate; hence, the Land Cruiser. The other two he assumed were crew from the boat. As he looked on, two other men appeared from below deck. One appeared to be another crew member, and the other … his brother.
Bruce had always been shorter and of stockier build than Rob, but over the years he’d developed a definite paunch and was carrying a fair amount of weight around his middle. His hair was thinning, very much as he remembered his father’s.
Bruce shook hands with the other man who’d come on deck with him, and gestured to the two men sitting on the bow. They rose, backslapped and gestured, and then followed Bruce off the boat to the Land Cruiser. One of the flunkies opened the back door and Bruce climbed in with effort. With the two others in the front, the 4x4 drove up the steep track, back to the main road.
Anger rose in his chest—anger he’d not felt in years. It fired an irresistible urge to annihilate the man who’d destroyed his life and family with lies and deceit. Rob sat and let the ire recede. Anger bred impulsive reactions, and impulsive reactions bred carelessness and vulnerability, which in turn led to failure. Rob had learned from experience in foreign warzones that vengeance was indeed a dish better served cold.
Rob ambled round the bay and up to the castle ruins, and returned to the Land Rover. Pulling out his phone, he found Justine’s number in the call history. The phone rang several times before a woman’s voice said, “Rob? Are you okay?”
“Fine, Tina. You?”
“Worried sick, if you must know. You were supposed to keep in touch regularly. Why didn’t you call?”
“Things have been a bit hectic since I got here … and when I did have time, I had no signal,” he lied and felt immediately guilty.
“What’s happening up there?”
Quickly, Rob brought her up to date with some of the events, minus detail of his night with Lorna. “Where are you? I’m getting a lot of background noise.”
“I’m in the car with a friend, but I’m so glad you called. Please don’t not call me again. I thought something had happened to you.”
“Sorry. If you had a pound for every time I’ve said or thought that word since we met, you’d be a very rich lady,” he said cheerfully, trying to lighten the mood of the conversation.
“If you don’t call me again soon, it’s going to take more than ‘sorry’ to get you off the hook, Rob MacLaine. I need to go. I’ve pulled over on a double yellow line to take your call but, please keep in touch and let me know all is all right.”
“I will, I promise … sorry. I’ll call you later. Take care,” he said and ended the call. Then, he hit the speed dial that would connect him to Joe Harper’s mobile.
“Where are you? Is everything okay?” Joe Harper asked anxiously.
“Fine, just doing a bit of recce … trying to gauge the lay of the land. One or two locals who knew me well recognised me, but they won’t to say anything. I had a run in with a couple of my brother’s heavies last night at the local pub and broke a few of their bones, but they don’t know who I am. They were just being arses to a couple of the local ladies, so I put a stop to it.” He drew a deep breath. “Less than an hour ago, I saw my brother—”
“What did he say? Did he recognise you?” asked Joe, alarmed.
“He didn’t see me. I made sure of that. Fat little bastard he’s turned into.” He stopped and listened closely. “What the hell’s that noise, Joe?”
“I’m driving. You’re on speaker phone.”
“Hope you’re on your own,” he said dryly. “With me slagging off my ‘beloved’ brother.”
“You’re fine.”
“What is it with everybody today? Is everyone in the world in a car today?” He chuckled dryly. “I just spoke with Justine, and she’s driving. She’s not a happy bunny, by the way, because I didn’t phone. I hope I haven’t blown it with her; I really like her. I could have babies with her if she’d let me,” Rob said.
“I’m sure you’ll be fine.” Joe laughed. “The fact that she was hacked off probably means that she truly cares and is worried about you.”
“Maybe, I don’t know.” He rubbed his temple, feeling a headache coming on. “She’s bloody gorgeous, Joe. She could have any man she wanted, so what would she see in someone like me?”
“You’re doing that insecure bit again, so stop or you’ll have me crying. Now, bugger off and get things sorted on that island of yours … then you’ll see your lovely Justine before you know it. I need to go. See you soon, partner.” Joe cut the call.
16
Rob spent the afternoon walking the edges Achravie Estate, trying to determine the best way of gaining access to the warehouse without anyone seeing him. Eventually, he made access to the area on his hands and knees, and sometimes on his stomach. When he reached a band of bushes close to the edge of the warehouse compound, he buried himself behind them, and studied the fence and compound through binoculars.
A series of small cameras were positioned around the perimeter. It was going to be tricky to get to the warehouse, never mind climb up onto the roof to see inside. Rob made his way round to the other side of the building, which wasn’t visible from the castle site. His spirits soared—here was a small door at the rear corner. That was an unexpected bonus. He might actually be able to gain access into the building rather than peering through that roof-high window. The downside was that the door would probably be alarmed. Rob double-checked the notes and sketches he’d done earlier. They’d do. Deciding that he’d seen enough for the time being, he started to retrace steps back to the main road.
He walked toward the car park and crossed the road to retrieve the Land Rover, just as a dark blue BMW 5 Series saloon swung into the car park and stopped in front of him. Three men, excluding the driver, climbed out and casually, but deliberately, fanned out. The dark haired man who’d been in the front passenger seat stood before Rob. He was a tall fit man with a well-tanned face and thin lips.
“A word, sir,” said the thirty-something man. “In the car, if you don’t mind.” A large hand held open the rear door.
“My mother always told me not to get in to cars with strange men, and never to speak to strangers,” Rob replied tersely.
“Chris Hall. My colleagues and I work for the NCA,” he said.
“National Crime Agency? That’s easy to say. Show me,” Rob demanded.
The man’s left hand moved toward the inside pocket o
f his short, tan-coloured jacket.
Rob stepped back. “Slowly if you don’t mind.” he said
“Trusting soul,” the man quipped, holding his jacket open to show Rob he wasn’t reaching for a weapon.
“I’m still breathing and that trumps trusting in my book,” Rob replied, watching the man’s eyes as he removed a small leather wallet from the jacket pocket. He flicked it open and Rob saw National Crime Agency identification.
“Do you have any ID, Mr …”
“Bob Chapman.” Rob held up one of his recently acquired business cards. “Let’s walk if you want to talk. Nice day for it don’t you think?” As Rob began to walk around the BMW, one of the men barred his way. Rob stared. “Are we going for a walk or not, Mr Hall?”
“Let’s walk,” Hall said nonchalantly.
Rob raised an eyebrow at the man blocking his path.
After a pause, he stepped to the side.
Rob started walking and glanced back at Hall, a couple of steps behind. “You can bring the three bears, if you want, it’s up to you” he jested.
The three didn’t wait to be invited, but followed Hall and Rob into the main car park, and over toward the castle ruins.
“I want to know what you were doing trespassing on Achravie Estate land this afternoon,” Hall eventually said.
“The Land Reform (Scotland) Act 2003 establishes a statutory right of access to land in Scotland, so I wasn’t trespassing. Anyway, what’s it got to do with you lot, where I take myself for a walk?”
“My business is none of your business and I wouldn’t describe your activities this afternoon as a leisurely walk. You were scoping out that warehouse from what we could see, Chapman.”
“You followed me out there?” Rob asked, incredulous.
“We were there before you arrived.”
“You’re watching that warehouse.”
“Sir?” an officer interrupted and shook his bald head as he handed Hall the business card Rob had given him.
“Your ID doesn’t check out,” Hall said smugly. “Do you want to enlighten us or do we pull you in right now?”
“You based out of Citadel Place?”
“What’s that got to …”
“You know Tony Urquhart?”
“He’s my boss’ boss, but—”
“Hang on.” Rob retrieved his mobile and scrolled through his contacts. He pressed the call button and waited.
“Good afternoon, National Crime Agency. Mr Urquhart’s office. How may I help?” a pleasant-sounding woman’s voice asked politely.
He turned away from Hall and his colleagues. “Put me through to Tony please. It’s Harper MacLaine Security.”
“Tony Urquhart here. Who’s calling?” a deep-throated voice asked.
Rob turned back. “Tony, it’s Rob. Can you speak?”
Tony affirmed that he could.
“Do you know Chris Hall? Says he’s one of your guys.”
“Sure, and a good guy, I might add. Why?”
“He’s standing in front of me in the car park at Achravie Castle. We’re discussing a certain warehouse on Achravie Estate. You know the one?”
“I know why they’re on Achravie, if that’s what you’re asking.”
“I think we need to get our heads together on this, because neither party’s going to back off. I don’t want to get in the way of your guys, but I’ve a vested interest in what’s going on. Let me explain, will you?”
There was nobody else in the immediate area, so Rob put his mobile on to speaker so the team could hear both sides of the conversation. Quickly, he updated Tony—and by default Chris and his team—as to why he was on the island.
At the end, Urquhart was quiet for a full moment, clearly thinking. “Firstly, I can’t put you on the books for this one.”
“Not a problem.”
“Secondly, what you suggest makes perfect sense and I’m happy to go with a collaborative approach. Can you hear me on that one, Chris?”
“Yes sir, but—”
“It’s fine, really Chris. NCA has used Rob’s company as consultants, with excellent results. I can vouch for the man. You two will get on well and that’s not an order, it’s a prediction.”
Chris eyed Rob closely.
Rob shook his head and both men smiled.
“Could I leave this one with you chaps? Let’s get a speedy resolution, if we can. Best of luck Rob, Chris.”
17
Tony Urquhart cut the call and Rob returned his mobile to his pocket. Chris’ team looked at their leader for instruction.
“Seems like we’ve got a new team member, guys. If Rob here has Tony Urquhart’s blessing, then I’m happy with that.” He turned to Rob. “He’s not an easy man to please. He must know you well.”
“Tony was my commanding officer in Iraq and Afghanistan, and I worked with him in other places which we won’t need to put names to. I’ve worked for him at NCA when he needs to work within … shall we say, a less rigid structure. We know each other very well.”
“We need to discuss the way forward on this. We’ve got a cottage on the other side of the island where we can convene … rather than draw attention to ourselves in the village. Let’s go back there and have a pow-wow,” Chris suggested.
“Sounds good. I’ll follow you guys,” Rob nodded.
Hall turned to a team member.” Ally, you stay as lookout and report any movement.”
Ally, a wiry man with a boyish face, nodded.
Chris gestured. “Rob, this is Alastair Gemmell, Ally to his mates. I’ll introduce the other guys when we get to the cottage.”
Smiling amiably, Rob shook Ally’s hand.
“I’ll head back to our spot,” Ally pointed, nodded to the team, and set off down the path.
As the others walked to the car park, another one of Hall’s men, a stocky man with razor-cut auburn hair, approached the Land Rover. “Mind if I ride with you?” he asked with a broad smile.
“Hop in.”
“I’m Tom Parker. Nothing to do with Elvis, just to be clear.”
Rob laughed and followed the BMW 5 Series out of the car park in silence.
It wasn’t till they were travelling in the direction of the cottage that Tom asked, “You were a SASS man then?”
“Yep. Did detective work at the end of Kosovo, then Iraq, Afghanistan, and couple of other little pockets. Left nigh on three years ago,” Rob replied.
“I spent a bit of time in the Balkans, nasty war that was … a lot of intense hatred on the ground. I was under Major Urquhart in Afghanistan. Spent two days in Iraq and got shipped home with a broken leg.” Tom eyed his profile for several seconds. “You said you worked for him in other little pockets as well.”
He smirked. “Secret squirrel stuff.”
“So you know him pretty well, then, mate … must do to get through to him easy as you did.”
“He was part of a group that got trapped in a safe house in Musa Qala, which had been compromised. One night, in the middle of a firefight, I led a patrol that got them out. I won a few brownie points,” he said with a rueful smile.
“Bet you did. If you’d saved my arse, I might take your calls, too.”
The rest of the journey was quiet; Tom’s interrogation seemed to have satisfied him.
They stopped behind a small ivy-covered cottage, sitting back from the road behind a row of tall hedges. The rear allowed a lot of space for the easy parking of multiple vehicles.
After Chris introduced the other team member, Charlie Best, an ex-Metropolitan Police firearms officer from Enfield, they sat at a long oak table with a brew of strong tea, and filled in one another with activities to date.
Cybercrime and the use of internet-based technology by criminal organisations had become a major issue with European law-enforcement agencies, including the NCA. The cybercrime team, housed within the Metropolitan Police, was monitoring suspicious internet activity and had come across a site that appeared to offer the trafficking of girls from
Eastern Europe to the UK.
Not long after being advised of this, the NCA was alerted to suspicious small boat traffic off the west coast of Scotland. Further investigation linked these two activities and, with help of Interpol, they managed to trace this back to Stade, a port down river from Hamburg, on the Elbe. The traffic was followed to its ultimate destinations. No regular schedule was adhered to, but the NCA was dispatched to monitor the activity on Achravie four days prior to Rob’s arrival.
The previous evening, another NCA team had picked up another boat; it, too, had been followed to Achravie. It was the boat Rob had seen moored at the jetty.
“It took us a while to piece all this together. The gang responsible isn’t exactly advertising itself, but we have resources all over Europe at our disposal, and we’re not shy about using them. People-smuggling is big business … and as you see regularly on the news, thousands of people are trying to get into the UK.
“You see tragedies that happen frequently in the Med, with people traffickers trying to get refugees into the EU, putting dozens, sometimes hundreds of desperate people onto boats never meant to hold that many. You can understand how these same traffickers are able to persuade vulnerable young girls that they’re able to get them into the UK, as well as provide jobs once there,” Chris explained matter-of-factly. “We found two off-loading points—might be more—so we’re still watching through Interpol. The two that we know of are: Lowestoft and Achravie. We believe the girls arriving here are kept in that warehouse … and will eventually end up in Glasgow, Edinburgh, and Aberdeen, maybe even Newcastle.”
Solemnly, he gazed from face to face. “These girls don’t exist as far as the authorities in the UK are concerned, so if they get harmed or even killed, nobody’s held responsible.”
Tom Parker nodded, his expression grim. “They’ll get drugged and raped and beaten. They’ll be told if they try to leave, or tell anyone, their families back home’ll receive the same punishment. When they’re finished with them, they’ll simply OD them on heroin and dispose of the bodies.”