by Ray Timms
‘Shudda uppa your mouth you old bag, less’a you wanna me to come in there and strangle you.’
‘You wouldn’t dare. You’ll be sorry when my son catches hold you. He’ll give you what for.’
‘I’m off out.’ Mario shouted through the door. ‘Don’t’a waste’a your breath shouting for help cos no one except the rats will hear you, and I should’a warn you the rats down here are as big as cats.’ That seemed to shut her up.
Mario needed some air. These deserted slums stank of disease.
Six o’clock, the minute he heard the King say that he had abdicated he was getting out of Scotland. As far as he was concerned that couldn’t happen fast enough. He would then call up his agent and arrange for his fee to be paid into his Swiss bank account. That done he was on the next flight out of Edinburgh to New York. The old woman had seen his face so she had to die. He couldn’t have been happier with where he had incarcerated her. No one had been inside those unsafe slums for many years, probably centuries. Maybe in another hundred years they will come across her bones that had been gnawed clean by the rats.
Iris had gone quiet.
Mario rattled the door to make sure it was locked.
‘Hey, you in there,’ he called out, with his ear against the rough oak door. ‘I am going to get some’a food’a.’ He lied. ‘If you are good while I am away, I will let you eat eh?’
Just off Castle Street the Italian restaurant called Caesars Palace was anything but a palace. Mario had chosen to sit a table in the gloomiest part of the restaurant. He was making a mess of eating his spaghetti Bolognese. Bits of pasta and sauce were stuck to the white cotton napkin that he had tucked into the collar of his shirt and other bits were on the tablecloth. Glad that he no longer had to listen to the constant bitching of the old woman, Mario was enjoying his food. He glanced up when he heard the door open. He recognised the guy who just walked in. They had crossed paths in Switzerland, a few years back. Maybe eight years ago? Mario had just heaped a forkful of food into his mouth when the man came and sat down across from him.
Among the fraternity of Professional Assassins, Bartholomew Gent was a respected killer and highly regarded in his craft. He was currently seeded Number 2 in the world and his fees reflected that fact. Three days ago an MI5 controller called him up and said they had a little job needed done. This one was in Edinburgh. He flew in that morning and called in at the local MI5 office where he picked up his assignment instructions and the necessary kit, which comprised of three handguns and boxes of ammo, along with three different passports and a handful of credit cards in various names. His orders, he was told by his handler, Q, came from the very top. He took that to mean the PM was in on it. His assignment was classified as urgent. He was to take out King Robert IV before he could implement his new plans that were scheduled to come into force Friday week. That was ten days from now.
When Gent recognised Mario Pantanello as he emerged from an alley on Castle Hill, what other conclusion could he come to? Pantanello had to be Edinburgh to kill the King! Someone had double-booked the job. Two hitmen after the same mark was unworkable, one of then would have to step aside.
There exists in the culture of Hitmen, a gentleman’s agreement that states, in the event of a double booking, the first hitman to arrive at the location had priority. Which was a fair arrangement given the amount of preparation work that needed to be done ahead of a standard hit. Regarding this particular assignment, the assassination of royalty, the risks were that much higher. This was reflected in the amount of money involved. With this one hit, Gent stood to earn enough money to buy a luxury yacht and then retire to the Caribbean.
Gent followed the New York mobster to a restaurant on Castle Hill.
‘Why’a you no go sit over there?’ Mario said pointing his spaghetti-laden fork at the tables over by the door. Splashes of sauce flew off and speckled his napkin.
Gent watched the Italian’s tongue slide over his lips picking up bits of blood-red food. A piece of stringy pasta hung defiantly from the lower of his two chins.
Bartholomew Gent smiled and said.
‘Mario, how are you?’
‘Do I know you?’
‘Yes we met before.’ Gent said looking relaxed.
‘Yeah I remember,’ Mario said, and pointed his fork at the man. More Bolognese sauce spattered the tablecloth. ‘You was at da Swiss chalet, when I took out the Russian oil guy yeah? Gent, that’s a your name yeah? British Intelligence? Yeah, I remember you.’
‘That’s right Mario. Small world eh?’
‘Wadda you want?’ Mario said forking in more food.
‘That time, back at the chalet Mario, you will recall, I stepped back and I let you take the shot. Which was cool, because you were there ahead of me and that is how we do business. As a matter of professional etiquette I agreed to give way.’
‘Wadda you saying?’
‘I am saying, Mario, that you arrived in Edinburgh two days ago, and I got here three days ago, one day ahead of you, therefore, I respectfully ask that you back off.’
Mario held up his empty glass and slammed the butt of his knife down on the table. The waiter looked up from tapping on his iPhone and then sauntered over with a bottle of Pinot Nero.
‘Ciao.’ Mario said raising his glass to his competitor. Mario took a swig, put his glass back down on the table. He resumed shovelling food into his mouth, sucking up loose strands of the stuff.
‘So, ‘said Gent, ‘Are we agreed? You will now leave Edinburgh and allow me to get on with my job?’
The Italian mobster’s eyes bore into Gent’s. Mario thumped his chest with a spaghetti-laden fork said. ‘In my country a contract is a matter of honour. When’a someone pays’a you to do a job, then you gotta do’a da job.’ Mario shrugged, ‘capisce? Now, why’a don’t’a you order some of dis nice’a bolognese’a pasta and go sidda over dere?’ ‘
‘No thanks,’ Gent said, ‘I’ve eaten.
‘Then get outa my fargin face?’ The Italian said waving Gent away with his fork that flicked pasta on the agent’s jacket.
Gent got up slowly from his chair and looking down on the Italian he made a gun of his fist and pointed it at the mobster. He said. ‘I saw that in a James Bond movie. See you around Mario.’
‘You wanna see a movie,’ Mario called out to Gent’s back as the man walked over to the door, ‘you should go watcha da Godfather and’a learn something about Italian honour.’
After the MI5 man had left Mario muttered, ‘fargin, icehole.’
*
A hundred feet beneath Castle Hill, in her dank and gloomy cell, Iris was beginning to give up hope of ever getting out of this room alive. She also suspected her body would never be found. She knew the Italian had lied. Why would he let her see his face if he intended to set her free? She wondered which, starvation, or thirst would kill her first? The latter she imagined. Moving round the room, Iris was tapping her knuckles on the walls hoping to hear the hollow sound of weakness. If she was to dig her way out of here, she needed to do so before she became too weak to do anything. An hour ago she gave up hammering at the door. Her hands were raw and bleeding from her attempts to break it down. Her voice had gone and her throat was sore from crying out and from thirst. She needed to conserve her energy. The only light in here was from a crack of sunlight spilling through a filthy window ten floors up inside what looked like an elevator shaft. Sticking out the walls at regular intervals were rotted stumps of wood, old floor joists. Soon the crack of light on the dusty floor would climb the wall and by sundown she will be in total darkness. Already she could see the red beady eyes of the rats that sat beneath the floorboards waiting patiently for thirst to weaken her. Was this how she was to die” Too weak to fight off the rats? She hefted her handbag. She would kill as many of them as she could before they overtook her. My handbag, she suddenly thought. Dropping to her knees Iris emptied out the contents on the floor. ‘Ahah!’ She cried, snatching up a crochet hook. She’d seen Det
ective Colombo pick the lock of a door with one of these on the telly.
Iris got to work on the lock.
*
After leaving the Italian restaurant, Mario went straight back to his hotel room. Five o’clock he was sitting on his hotel bed and watching the news channel on TV while waiting to see the King’s abdication broadcast. The TV commenters could only guess the purpose of King Robert’s extraordinary announcement scheduled for six o’ clock. Mario smiled. That would be his abdication speech. Mario, propped up against the pillows on his bed, dialled up room service.
‘Send’a up, a bottle of red wine and a bucket of French fries.’
Twenty minutes later when he heard a knock at his door, thinking this had to be his food order, he called out.
‘Come in it aint locked.’ When the door swung in, Mario saw Bartholomew Gent standing in the doorway. The MI5 agent had a silenced gun aimed at his head.
‘Hello again, Mario,’ said Gent. ‘Sorry about this.’
Mario’s hand as fast as lightning, brought up the gun that he kept hidden under his pillow.
The noise made by the two muffled shots could have been someone shutting doors.
The only person able to say where Iris Brewson was being kept prisoner was now dead.
*
Gavin wasn’t taking any chances. When Fiona and Henry and Penny demanded that he explain his sudden decision to abdicate he felt he had better lie. He told them he was tired and he had had enough of Scotland.
They didn’t believe a word of it.
‘Don’t keep asking me why, because I can’t tell you,’ Gavin protested. He was angry with himself for not realising the threat that Dewar and Cruid posed. ‘Please, can you not just trust me on this. I know what I am doing. Tomorrow, after I have abdicated, all being well, I should be able to give you a better explanation.’
The others left Gavin alone so that he could write his abdication speech. Hurriedly penned on a scrap of paper he gave no hint of why he was quitting. His address was due to go worldwide at six o’clock. He would then sign Dewar’s Royal Assent bill and the formal document that sealed his abdication. He and his family were leaving Scotland forever.
When Gent called up Q, his Edinburgh handler to ask him if he knew who had hired Mario Pantanello to kill the King, he was taken aback by what he heard. Q said.
‘What makes you think he was in Edinburgh to kill the King? The Italian gentleman wasn’t here to take the King out, his assignment, orchestrated by someone high up in the Scottish Government, was to kidnap the King’s Mother in some poorly thought out plot to force the King to abdicate. As I understand it the woman escaped, and then the next I heard you walked in on him and shot him dead. I cannot believe that you did this because you felt sorry for the old woman so I guess you had some other reason. Would you care to share that with me?’
Gavin hesitated and then said. ‘No. Bye Q.’
Even if he had known that Mario, strictly speaking, wasn’t after the same target as he, it probably wouldn’t have made any difference. The simple fact of the matter was the Italian should have acknowledged the Hitman’s Code of Conduct.
Taking out Pantanello, had been a precautionary requirement that was proportional to the threat his interference posed to Gent’s professional reputation. Ranked the Number 2 Hitman in the world, second only to Sven Johannson, the “Swiss meatball,” Gent knows should he fail on this mission he could expect his ranking take a serious knock.
Chapter Twenty-four
Holyrood.
Well before the King’s expected arrival, the Scottish Parliament Building was packed with MSP’s and the media circus. Speculation was rife. No one, however, could have imagined that Scotland’s new King was about to hand back his crown.
Only Mary Dewar and Cruid knew why the King had recalled Parliament. Dewar was overjoyed at the way her brilliant idea was panning out. In her briefcase she had the two documents ready for the King to sign. The first of these was the bill that would end the ridiculous need for Royal Assent. The second document was the document that ended his Kingship, which in turn terminated Scotland’s brief return to a monarchical system.
Mary had tried several times to speak to the kidnapper. He wasn’t answering his mobile phone. She wanted to tell him he that would get paid the minute Brewson signed the abdication document and had left the building. In anticipation of this agreeable outcome and feeling magnanimous in victory, she had asked Cruid to purchase the Brewson’s First class rail tickets back to Essex.
Cruid had never seen Dewar looking this happy.
‘Congratulations Mary, ‘Cruid said. ‘You pulled it off.’
‘Yes I did. With no help from you.’
It was now five o’ clock. In one hour Gavin was due over at the Parliament Building where he would deliver his speech. Taking a risk, Gavin felt it was time to trust Fiona, Henry and Penny not to call the police. Taking them aside he told them about the kidnapping. He explained how he had no choice. In return for his Mother’s safe return he had to agree to abdicate after which he planned to leave Scotland.
‘Could you not,’ Penny suggested, her voice nearly choking, ‘announce your abdication and then when your Mother is back home say that you have changed your mind and you are staying on?’
‘The people behind this, and I think we all know who they are, wont release her until I have signed the declaration. My signature sets it in stone and my enemies know that. So, sadly, there will be no going back.’
‘Then as much as it grieves me to say this,’ Henry said gripping hold of Gavin’s hand. ‘You must do what you think is best. Saving your mother is far more important than your throne.’ Henry sighed. ‘We shall be sorry to see you go…hell, Scotland will be sorry to lose you.’
Gavin saw Penny’s eyes well up. Fiona went to her and pulled her into a hug.
After the tourists had left for the day, King Robert had gather about him his loyal team of solicitors and legal secretaries. They met at the fountain in the Palace Courtyard. Keeping hold of Fiona’s hand he saw reflected in her eyes his own utter sadness. Thinking about his Mother it was hard to remain composed.
‘I have asked you all to meet me here because I feel it is only fair that you should hear it from me first. At six o’ clock, I shall go across to the Scottish Parliament Building where I shall announce my abdication.’
Seeing the looks of shock and dismay on the faces of his hardworking team, Gavin nearly choked. ‘Right now, I am not able to say why I need to do this. Maybe sometime in the future this may well come out? I just want to thank you so much for all for your hard work and the dedication you have showed me over the past weeks. Like you, I feel sad that the mission that we set out to accomplish has to end.’
Words failed him. Gavin shook his head. He had to walk away.
Henry and Penny caught up with Gavin and Fiona and together they set off for the Scottish Parliament Building. What was most upsetting for Gavin was not so much about him losing his crown. That really didn’t matter. What mattered was the people of Scotland would not now get the justice they deserved. They would not get to see the difference to their ordinary lives that his new laws would have brought about. The other thing that stuck like a fishbone in his throat, was the thought that Mary Dewar had got away with her plan to dethrone him. Feeling as if he might explode with rage, Gavin lengthened his stride across the Palace courtyard. Holding his head high and with his sight set on the modern Parliament Building just across the way, Gavin reached the gates where two lines of armed cops were waiting to escort him safely across the road.
‘Are you ok Gavin?’ Henry said at his side.
Gavin nodded. Fiona gave his hand a squeeze.
They had just reached the gates when a taxicab slewed to a halt blocking his path. His eyes widened when he saw his mother climb out of the taxi. He looked on as she reached in and paid the cabbie.
Iris was covered in dust and uncharacteristically, her clothes and her hair looked a mess. Turni
ng to face her son, Iris said sternly.
‘Now don’t you go yelling at me Gavin. I know it was foolish thing to do, me going out on my own… stupid old woman…’ When Gavin embraced her it almost took the wind out of her.
‘Mother! Oh my God. I am so glad to see you. Are you ok?’ He said leaning back to examine her. ‘What’s happened to your hands? They have blood on them. You’re hurt! Where is the man who did this? I am going to kill him.’
‘He’s gone,’ Iris said. ‘The bugger left me locked in a rat-infested room. If it hadn’t have been for the crochet hook I always keep in my handbag I would have died. I knew he had no intention of coming back to set me free, else he wouldn’t have let me see his face. He’ll be pig sick when he does come back and find me gone.’ Iris held up the crochet hook. ‘I picked the lock Gavin. I saw Columbo do that on the telly.’ Iris said proudly.
Gavin pulled his mother to him and very nearly broke down.
After a few moments Henry placed a hand on the King’s shoulder. ‘It is five to six Gavin. What are you going to do? Are you still going to abdicate?’
‘What! Iris spluttered. She turned on her son. ‘What’s Henry saying? You are not abdicating just because some stupid old woman hadn’t the good sense to keep herself safe. I wont hear of it Gavin Brewson,’ Iris said fiercely. ‘You go over there, ‘Iris pointed to the Parliament Building, ‘and you tell them that nothing’s changed. For God’s sake Gavin, you are the King and a descendent of Robert the Bruce. No,’ Iris demanded, ‘you are not abdicating.’
‘Ok, Mother, I hear you,’ Gavin said trying to calm his mother down. Turning to Henry he said.
‘Can you take my Mother back to our apartment and have a doctor check her over.’ Turning to Penny, Gavin said. ‘Can you go talk to the Chief of Police and tell him I want the people behind my Mother’s abduction caught and I want our police protection doubled.’ Penny nodded and walked off.
Gavin walked back over to the fountain where his team were even more confused about what was going on. He clapped his hands. ‘Come on you people. Heads up! Change of plan. I am not going to abdicate and you need to get back to your desks. There is a lot of work to do.’