by Ted Tayler
They crept past the first rows of roof-high racking. There were cartons dotted here and there, but plenty of gaps, which gave them a chance to look across the whole width of the building. There were no gunmen near the back wall yet.
Jimmy indicated to Phoenix and Laidlaw to replace them.
“We’ll make our way across to the far wall,” he whispered.
“Take care,” said Laidlaw.
As he and Rusty moved from one stack to the next, they checked the gangways for any sign of the opposition. Halfway over, the sound of automatic weapons caused them to stop and hit the floor.
“That was our lot, opening fire again,” said McLean, “but I’m buggered if I know where.”
“The low ceiling in this basement and the metal racking is causing every sound to echo,” said Rusty, “but we’re no help lying here. Let’s head for the far wall, as planned, and make our way forward. Keep Greg and Phoenix well behind us, I don’t want us engaging with the enemy at the same time if they move past us towards the exit. It might get hairy.”
“Agreed,” said McLean, and they set off at a run, crouching low. They reached the relative security of the far wall. McLean contacted Laidlaw and said they were moving forward.
“We’ve had two agents hit in the past few minutes,” Greg told McLean, “only flesh wounds, nothing terminal. They’ve eliminated two gunmen. There are three to sort out, and they’re holed up in the centre of the room, just beyond the final row of racking.”
“All received,” said McLean, and he and Rusty inched forwards.
“There,” said Rusty, grabbing his friend’s left arm, and bringing them to a temporary halt.
Through the gaps in the rack spaces, he could see the three gunmen. They were shielded from the other teams by a fork-lift truck, and steel cabinets which housed electrical equipment. The two agents were able to see the rest of the layout as Greg’s plan had shown. In the distance was the racking for the Inward Goods. There were tables for the preparatory work, and then final assembly. Nothing had been left to chance. It was a lean, mean production plant.
The gunmen were still concentrating their attention forwards where the initial attack had started. They weren’t expecting an attack from the rear.
“Let’s finish this,” said Rusty.
“Permission to eliminate the threat, boss,” McLean asked Laidlaw.
“Affirmative,” replied his team leader.
“Here goes nothing,” cried Jimmy.
He and Rusty stood up from their crouching position and burst into the open. They skirted the rows of racking, firing as they ran. The gunmen half-turned, aware of the danger at last. It was far too late. They were felled in a hail of bullets.
“Clear,” Jimmy McLean called to his team leader.
Phoenix and Laidlaw emerged from the other side of the racking and were joined by four of the agents. A final sweep by two of their colleagues would soon confirm that each of the three floors of the warehouse was under Olympus control.
“How are your wounded?” asked Phoenix.
“Embarrassed,” came the reply.
“They live to fight another day, unlike the Grid’s casualties,” said Rusty.
“We’ve got a group of Vietnamese teenagers to hand over to the authorities,” said Laidlaw. “I’ll start the ball rolling on that later. For now, we need to clean up in here. My crew will dispose of the bodies.”
The agents looked around them. A clean-up crew would soon dispose of the bodies, but the explosions and the gunfight had disturbed much of the product the warehouse was handling. The air was full of white particles, and the floor looked as if it was carpeted in snow.
“What’s the plan?” Rusty asked Phoenix.
“Any scrap of information within these walls to help the police track the source of the drugs backwards to Manchester, and the distribution network onwards will be accessible to them. The young lads will be next to the tables they were working at awaiting their arrival. Trussed-up like chickens, perhaps; but alive and well. Greg’s men will leave as few clues as possible that we were ever here. The anonymous phone call will hint at a turf-war. The workers don’t know any different, and they pose no threat to Olympus. Our best bet is for McGrath to believe this was a police operation, driven by a tip-off of the illegal immigrants. The uncovering of a drug network was a happy coincidence.”
“Let’s hope he swallows that,” said Laidlaw. “If we can dispose of the bodies and spread misinformation on the whereabouts of the gang members within the police system, then we buy ourselves valuable time.”
“It’s a ploy that’s worked well for Olympus over the years,” agreed Phoenix.
“We had better make a move,” said Jimmy McLean, “you guys need to transfer to your next target site. Greg will look after the wounded here, and when the place is shipshape, he’ll make the call.”
With a quick nod of gratitude to Greg Laidlaw, Phoenix and Rusty followed Jimmy McLean outside. They crossed the open ground to the van quickly, and quietly. The gear was stowed away. Jimmy started the engine, and made for Glasgow on the M77, then took the M74 towards Edinburgh.
“Sit back, and enjoy the ride, lads,” said Jimmy. “We’ll be there in less than forty minutes.”
Rusty checked his watch. It was still only twenty-five minutes past ten. Times flies when you’re enjoying yourself.
“Have you prepared a history lesson for me about our destination, Phoenix?” asked Rusty.
“A thumbnail sketch,” replied Phoenix. “What do you expect? I’m a past master at turning over every little detail in case it affects the outcome of my mission. If you’re sitting comfortably, then I’ll begin. Coatbridge lies ten miles east of Glasgow, it’s a working-class town, twice the size of the place we’ve just left, and is called Little Ireland. It has great transport links via road and rail. In recent years it’s become Scotland’s inland container base.”
“That sums the place up,” said McLean. “The container aspect gave the town ample opportunity to develop the trafficking of drugs, women for the sex trade, and illegal workers. It wouldn’t surprise me if those Vietnamese teenagers we uncovered didn’t arrive through that route.”
“It sounds just the place to settle down, and raise a family,” said Rusty.
“As if,” scoffed Jimmy McLean. “I can never remember you even chatting to a lassie, let alone having any intentions of getting settled.”
“Times change,” said Rusty. “I needed to find the right girl, and I did. We live together at Larcombe Manor.”
“Good for you, mate,” said McLean. “Jessie left me while I was in Kosovo. There were no kids. When I threw my lot in with Olympus up here, I didn’t think it fair to lumber a woman with the worry of whether I’d be coming home at night. Jessie had enough of that to bear while I was in the SAS.”
“There’s still time, Jimmy,” said Rusty, “and it’s good to have someone to come home to after a mission. It makes the fight worthwhile, believe me.”
“You’ll get no argument from me,” said Phoenix. “My wife and daughter keep me sane. If I had nothing else to occupy my mind except the criminals out there, and the depraved nonsense they get up to, I’d go crazy.”
“I’ll bear it in mind, Rusty,” said Jimmy. “If you find a girl looking for a vertically challenged Scotsman, the wrong side of forty-five, tell her to call me. Right, lads, this is your stop.”
Jimmy had turned off the motorway and was nearing the ubiquitous industrial estate. Phoenix thought their footprints were so similar these days you could be anywhere in Europe. It was only the local road signs and the weather that set one place apart from the next. Truckers from every corner of Europe used the motorway systems these days, and the estate they were entering had vehicles from Germany, Norway, Poland, Netherlands, and Spain, parked up overnight.
“Who are we meeting here?” asked Rusty.
“The Edinburgh team Greg was talking to when you met us at the airport. Their leader is Hugh Fraser, an ex-C
aptain in the Scots Guards. Hugh earned a reputation as the Army’s supreme logistics man. When Greg took us through tonight’s wee skirmish, he showed us the floor plan, issued basic instructions, and then relied on our training to know what to do when the action started. Fraser gives each agent under his command a detailed, colour coded file containing every step of the mission. It’s all rather anal if you ask me, but his success rate is off the chart, and his men never complain; not in public, at least.”
Jimmy was soon driving onto the Monklands Industrial Estate. In front of them was a single black van, with tinted windows. It was facing the estate road exit.
“I think that’s Fraser’s crew,” said Jimmy. “Hard to tell whether they’re inside the van, or already on the ground.”
“Did Laidlaw say what time Fraser was hitting the warehouse?” asked Phoenix.
“There’s something you need to know about Fraser,” chuckled Jimmy. “When he thinks he has the exact window of opportunity, he’s off like a rat up a drainpipe. He likes to lead from the front and isn’t one for waiting around for backup. When I got out of the van to talk to Rusty earlier, Greg was having a few words with our Hughie. He never did fill me in on the outcome of that conversation. We were too busy with our own job after that.”
“I’ll walk over and have a word,” said Phoenix, “you two cover me, in case it’s a trap.”
“No problem, Phoenix,” said Rusty.
He and Jimmy got out of the van and collected their weapons. They watched as Phoenix wandered across the lorry park towards the van. As he drew near, the passenger door opened, and a tall, distinguished-looking man stepped out.
“Phoenix, I presume?”
“You must be Fraser?”
“I have something for you,” said Fraser, handing a blue folder to Phoenix.
“What’s this?”
“My report on tonight’s direct action. In brief, my four agents and I entered the building at 21.50 hours. We overpowered the four criminals we found. They’re in the warehouse’s canteen, for now. I’ve indicated where the relevant documentation was, so it can be passed to the police. We found information on the entire trafficking network from Asia, through Central Africa, on to Southern Europe and beyond. I think you’ll find the report comprehensive enough for the authorities to take immediate action to cripple this damnable human trade.”
“There’s little to do, then?” smiled Phoenix.
“Sorry, I didn’t wait for you. Time was of the essence. The criminals could have left by ten o’clock. They used this building as a transit site after the human cargo arrived. Men, women, and children were shuttled through here overnight, with none staying long. Then transport arrived to distribute them throughout Scotland. On the outside, the firm looked like a building trades supplier. But it held a far darker secret.”
“Does your report suggest how we proceed, regarding your prisoners?” asked Phoenix.
“Of course,” said Fraser, somewhat surprised at the question, “it’s unlikely the police will rouse themselves tonight. I’ll arrange a call in the morning. One of my men is standing guard. Once the police are on their way on the approach road, I’ll tell him to get off home. He knows the escape route.”
“He has a blue folder too?” asked Rusty.
“Naturally,” replied Fraser. “Look, if there’s nothing more, I’d prefer to get off home. I suggest you read the report at your leisure, and then you can head back south. Our work here is as good as done. We’ll tie a neat bow on matters first thing tomorrow.”
“Right,” said Phoenix, “well, thank you, and good to meet you.”
Fraser turned on his heel and got back in the van.
“White was the colour in Glasgow,” said Phoenix, “blue seems to be popular in Edinburgh.”
Phoenix and Rusty stood and watched as Fraser’s driver pulled away. Jimmy’s van was now the only vehicle in the lorry park.
“Back to the airport, guys?” he asked.
“We might as well get some shut-eye with Biggles, and then head home at first light,” said Phoenix. “I can’t help feeling cheated. I was looking forward to the action.”
Rusty smiled. That was typical of Phoenix. He liked to take the troubles of the world on his shoulders. So much so he had been stressed in recent months. When someone gave a helping hand, he took umbrage.
Jimmy McLean dropped the two agents at the airport building.
“It was grand to meet up with you again, Rusty,” he said, “keep in touch. A pleasure working with you, Phoenix.”
“Thanks, Jimmy, I’m sure we’ll be back this way before too long.”
As they walked through the door of the building, they could hear loud snoring coming from the far end of the room. Phoenix sat in the nearest chair and read the report Fraser had handed him. Rusty found a comfortable chair and hoped to get some sleep before sunrise.
Biggles never stirred.
Phoenix reckoned it would be a long night.
The upside was that Fraser was everything Jimmy McLean had said. The man was meticulous; never a bad thing as far as Phoenix was concerned.
CHAPTER 2
Wednesday, 2nd July 2014
The journey back from Glasgow had been uneventful. Les Biggar had woken up at four o’clock, with no need for an alarm. A cold shower, and a change of clothes later, he was set to fly. Phoenix and Rusty were tired, dirty, and uncomfortable.
“A good morning for it,” Biggles had shouted, as they took off.
“If you say so,” Rusty had replied.
“Everything went to plan last night, I suppose? I didn’t hear you return.”
“I’m not surprised with the racket you were making. Yes, our involvement was limited, and both crews will apply the finishing touches in an hour or two.”
“We could have stayed at home,” Phoenix had said. “By the way, I’ve asked for someone from Larcombe to collect the van from Bristol airport, I hope you don’t mind?”
“Not a problem.”
Biggles had then taken them straight home to Larcombe Manor, touching down on the lawns at the far end of the grounds. Long enough for them to gather up their kit, and jump out. Phoenix and Rusty had run at a crouch towards the ice-house and watched as Biggles lifted and powered away. He signed off with a waggle of the helicopter’s tail, as he flew over the manor house and back to base. Several people sleeping in the main building, and the staff quarters, were now wide awake. It was a few minutes before seven,
“That will go down like a lead balloon,” Rusty had said.
“I didn’t fancy driving through the morning traffic from Filton back to Bath. I need a shower and a decent breakfast before I start work. There’s plenty to get done.”
“Artemis is already at work in the ice-house. I doubt she realises we’re back. I might grab a bite too before the nine o’clock meeting. See you there later.”
The pair had made their way across the lawns to the house and then gone their separate ways to their apartments.
The next forty-eight hours had seen activity, both north and south of the border. An anonymous call about the illegal immigrants working in the warehouse in Barrhead offered the Glasgow police a terrific start to the week. The paperwork they found opened several lines of enquiry, and the elaborate production set-up raised eyebrows but brought a rare smile from the Chief Constable. At last, they had good news to deliver to the public.
In Edinburgh, the police were also seeing a more positive future, as news from Coatbridge filtered through from their Glasgow colleagues. Four men with known links to organised crime were found at premises on the Monklands Industrial Estate.
Data gathered from the offices there showed a well-established global trafficking network, together with items offering them the chance to identify how this warehouse linked to one of the most famous gangsters in Scotland. A man who had been untouchable for decades and known to be involved in drug supply the length and breadth of the Central Lowlands.
It was early in July, and
seasonably warm, but even if it had been January, there would have been no cold hands in police headquarters. Every senior policeman in Fettes Avenue was rubbing his hands with glee.
Further south, in Manchester, enquiries remained ongoing. Activity had been high ever since the night of the incidents in Beswick, Hulme, and Cheetham Hill. The news from Scotland only added extra fuel to the frequent requests for overtime. There were smiling faces everywhere.
Except in the home of Gregor McGrath, and those of his fellow gang members. They were trying to stem the flow of damaging information. Scapegoats were being selected. There was an inevitability this would end with somebody ending up in prison.
McGrath and his senior colleagues were determined it wouldn’t be them.
Within every organisation, there are those who are expendable. In the criminal underworld, it’s no different. If your name came up, you hoped the gang looked after your family while you were inside taking one for the team.
Two things bothered Gregor McGrath. Who had notified the authorities of the Vietnamese workers in the first place; and then where had the police taken the men running the drug operation in Barrhead? He was assured by the guys arrested in Coatbridge they weren’t in Glasgow. He was awaiting news from Edinburgh. Surely, someone there knew their whereabouts. If all else failed, McGrath planned to call a Grid colleague in Manchester to check whether they had gone there.
Gregor McGrath needn’t have worried about the Barrhead gang members. The police also wondered where they were. They couldn’t imagine the Asian teenagers ran the show alone, but they were clueless who their bosses had been. Or why they left their workers alone without supervision.
Greg Laidlaw could have told them both not to worry. The gangsters were enjoying the rural views from the forested hillsides in several country parks that lay between Glasgow and Edinburgh.
At Larcombe Manor, Athena had been full of admiration for the success of the Scottish missions.
“Apart from giving Hope and I a rude awakening when you returned on Monday morning without warning,” she had said to Phoenix, “we couldn’t have hoped for more.”