by Robert White
She beckoned me from the Jeep. I was spread-eagled on the bonnet and searched by an unseen face. I had no weapons.
Susan opened the door of a newly washed and polished Land Cruiser and pushed me roughly inside. On my left was a real bruiser of a bloke and before the door was slammed closed I was joined by an equally steroid-induced dickhead in cheap sunglasses that sat in the personal space to my right. They didn’t even bother to cuff or tie me.
Confidence ruled.
A third, smaller but more sorted-looking guy drove. Susan turned in the front passenger seat to face me. She wore that same big smile that had nothing to do with her eyes.
“It’s so good to see you again, Rick. You look well. You would hardly notice the scar my brother left you.”
I didn’t know if she was looking for a rise in me but I wasn’t going to play her game. I stayed silent.
She played a big ace.
“Your friends will be joining you in a couple of hours, Rick. Won’t that be nice? Jimmy has seen to that for us.”
I must have shown some flicker of emotion. Jimmy? How could I have been so fuckin’ stupid? She grasped it with both hands as the Cruiser turned sharp left up toward the Rock.
“Awww! Poor Rick. Your army colleagues are a constant let down for you, aren’t they? First Daddy and Uncle Charlie, and now one of your very own Special Air Service boys.”
The guy on my right who was doing a fair impression of The Terminator himself twisted his considerable neck to look me in the eye.
“That’s coz them boys is all limp dicks, Miss Susan.”
He had a Deep South American drawl. Probably ex-Marine Corps. Small bubbles of white spittle formed on his narrow lips as he shot out his words just a little too quickly for his pea brain.
My old training took over. Inside I was blazing with anger but outwardly I had to let them see they had won. Let them think that I had given up, and then maybe, just maybe, they would relax enough and I would get a chance to escape. I lowered my head and looked at my knees.
The big daft fucker was loving it. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head upright to face forward.
“Look at Miss Susan when she talkin’ to you, boy.”
Susan knew the drill. Obviously she’d been to the same charm school as her brother Stephan. I could see her boiling the kettle herself.
“Cody here seems to like you, Rick. Maybe I’ll let him have half an hour alone with you before you have a little chat with Daddy and Charlie. They are simply aching to see you after all these years. What do you think, Rick? And I just know your little friend Lauren will be very popular with some of the boys in the Centre. Maybe you can watch them have some fun with her too?”
I still played the game.
“Look, you’ve got me, Susan. Why not let the others go? I’m the one you really want.”
She shook her head and I even noticed the driver allow himself a wry smile. I figured everyone in the car had been through the same training manual and I was wasting my breath.
“You know that isn’t going to happen, don’t you, Rick? Even you with all that hatred built up inside you should understand that this is business. Just that, nothing personal.”
She rested her hand on the back of the seat and I noticed a different engagement ring. She clocked me and held it up so that the rock sparkled in the ambient light.
“Nice, isn’t it, Rick? It cost over one hundred thousand Euros. He’s called Pablo. Italian. Very connected. All gel and designer stubble. Within the month we’ll be married and it will all start again, Rick. He is my next Joel Davies, my next tame millionaire drug dealer.
Within a year I will have set up the first shipment for him. Of course I will have a contact with the elusive Stern Empire. Daddy and Uncle Charlie will do me the very best rates and Pablo will be delighted. Then he’ll get greedy, as they all do. He’ll want bigger shipments at cheaper prices. After that, you know only too well what happens, don’t you, Rick? The shipment is stolen or lost, the odd player ends up floating in the river, the right information is leaked to the right ear, and we watch the Italians go to war over drugs that never existed.” She admired the stone once again and sighed heavily and theatrically before moving her had out of sight.
“Perfect,” she breathed.
The Land Cruiser was revving hard as we climbed ever higher up the Rock. I noticed we passed several old entrances to the infamous wartime tunnels carved into the cliff face by different armies. Obviously the ‘Centre’ was one of them.
Susan hadn’t finished. I always thought she liked the sound of her own voice.
“You know, Rick; I have to tell you this because it is so funny.”
She elongated the ‘so’ just like a sixth-form schoolgirl would when talking about last night’s date.
I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of shooting her.
She was buzzing. “All this started that day when you came round to Joel’s house to look at his car or something. You had a beer, remember? I knew you were his preferred collector but never really took any notice until that day. All big dealers have one guy they rely on for all the ‘wet’ stuff. You were too...” she struggled for her descriptive momentarily, “too mysterious. That was it, mysterious. There was something not quite right about you. So I took your empty beer bottle and checked your DNA out. It was easy with our resources. Well, Rick, when the results came back Uncle Charlie was simply insistent that you and your friends didn’t return from Holland. He thought you were dead, you see? He knew you’d be trouble one day. And he was right, wasn’t he, Rick? All the mess you’ve caused. Well, that’s all over now isn’t it?”
I recalled the time when Susan had been so quick to recover my bottle. Sitting on Joel’s patio, staring out at those bloody awful bushes. It answered lots of questions.
The car slowed, and by the fidgeting either side of me I gathered we’d arrived at the place Susan called the Centre.
The place was inconspicuous enough. A small parking area for six vehicles fronted a reinforced concrete arch with a solitary steel door carved straight into the Rock. It was all that announced the presence of a tunnel at all. There was no security lighting which was strange and I was marched in relative darkness to the opening. A single red light glowed dimly over the entry as Susan punched a code into the security lock. The door didn’t open immediately. There was a humming sound that I gathered was lift gear bringing a car from deep within the Rock. Then the door clicked open and we were bathed in fluorescent light.
Immediately inside the old medical unit was space enough for three stretchers and ambulance crews. Decorated in World War II green hospital tiling, it gave me the creeps. You could almost hear the sailors’ screams of agony reverberate off the austere ceramics. In its previous life this was the area the injured would in wait until what still looked like the original elevator car lumbered its way to the surface to take stretchers and casualties down into the depths of the Rock. It had those see-through concertina steel doors and was easily big enough to take everyone in the entrance and some. The doors looked new though and when I looked a second time so did the 1940s wall tiles.
I scanned the rest of the lobby. To the left a more modern green sign announced a fire escape and stairs.
The big Yank in the crappy shades pulled the lift door aside and grabbed me by the elbow. I was unceremoniously dumped inside and I faked a trip and fell on my arse in the corner to give him even more pleasure and confidence.
I knew I was in the shit, but I also knew I would be meeting Williamson and Goldsmith face to face.
When that time came, if they were confident that I was a ‘beaten’ man, they might be sloppy; they might make one small error that allowed me at them.
I was waiting for that. Ten years on.
Lauren North's Story:
We had twenty minutes to sort out a plan and our weapons before the autopilot on the powerboat delivered us to Williamson’s men. Des had propped Jimmy into the captain’s chair and stuck a baseball cap on his head to h
ide the obvious hole. If the guys coming to meet us had night sights it might just fool them long enough.
I popped another couple of co-codamol and was feeling okay apart from not being able to breathe through my nose.
Des had been unusually quiet and was working methodically unpacking weapons and searching the rest of the boat for anything useful. I knew he was working to avoid me. The disappointment of an old colleague letting the side down was giving him a hard time. I suppose it was like having a best friend shag your boyfriend but a million times worse. He’d gone all quiet.
I looked at Des and wanted to make him feel good again. I wanted to tell him, it would all be okay in the end. I had a sudden flash of Jimmy’s body slapping against his own, very expensive boat.
I can’t believe I’m saying this, but I actually enjoyed shooting Jimmy ‘Two Times’ Smith. He was a real cock.
Finally Des took a breather and I was glad of it. He stood on the deck, sweat pouring from him, his white shirt sticking to his body, showing the tight-wired muscles of his shoulders and chest; the moon highlighted the day or so growth darkening his weathered face.
“Lauren.”
“Yes, Des.”
“Ye did good back there, I…” His voice faltered. There was something in it I didn’t recognise at first. Then, it came to me and I just knew what it was. I’d heard it in my own voice so many times over the years.
It was regret.
“It’s okay, mate,” I said.
He stood for a full minute, the wind in his face. He never took his eyes from me and finally he spoke.
“I’m sorry I didn’t see it. Jimmy, I mean, we were, you know, I was just so certain…”
I walked from the cabin and onto the deck to join him, took him in my arms and drew him close. I felt his arms slowly react as he held me too. He was so gentle. The natural roughness of his hands, calluses gained from hard graft, felt good against my skin. I was being held by a man, a good honest man. I spoke into his ear, not wanting to lose the embrace.
“We’ve all been betrayed, Des. Some more than others; it’s not your fault; not anyone’s fault, except Jimmy himself.”
He cupped my chin in his hands and looked into my face. He kissed me lightly on the corner of my mouth. The wind was blowing my hair so much it almost covered both our heads.
In that moment I forgot all of what might come.
“You’re a good man, Des, a good man with a big heart, and a fair mind. You’re the kind of man that could make any woman happy.”
He smiled.
“Aye, but not you, Lauren, eh?”
I looked at my feet.
“No, well not in the way you’re suggesting.”
The sea lapped at the sides of the boat in a rhythm only it can play. I raised my head, held his face, with both palms and kissed him firmly on the mouth.
He looked shocked and I felt the start of a tear.
I started, “When this is over, Des…”
He held his fingers to my lips and shook his head.
“No. I’ll have no promises Lauren.
He held me with his eyes for a few more seconds before going back to his work.
I knew exactly what he meant and he was right.
This was no time for promises.
Rick Fuller's Story:
The lift clanged to a halt. It had dropped between twenty and thirty feet. As I hadn’t been cuffed or hooded I figured that I wasn’t intended to survive this visit to la-la land or join a witness protection program. Fair one, I suppose.
The gate was pushed aside and we were greeted by a long well-lit corridor with more of the same ’40s tiled décor. As I was marched along I could see that the doors of the adjacent rooms were ajar and each was decked out with wartime medical equipment. Doctor’s offices, small wards and even an operating theatre were mapped out left and right. Everything was fifty years old but in pristine condition. All that was missing were the nurses in their starched aprons and red crosses.
Finally we reached the end of the corridor and Susan punched what looked like the same security code as before into a keypad that sat to the right of a heavy door marked ‘Staff Only.’
Everything changed.
We were transported to the present. Microsoft replaced clipboard and pen, cappuccino left tea and biscuits behind. Green tiles were firmly a thing of the past and pastel colours and workstations were the order of the day. It reminded me of my one and only visit to MI5.
The luxury was short-lived for me though.
I was suddenly dragged left along a short corridor. This time we waited at a door without any kind of keypad or handle. It had a security camera pointing down at us. Seconds ticked by until the door was finally opened from the inside by a man in a white coat. He reminded me of an old Nazi, all watering eyes and round gold-rimmed glasses. He didn’t speak but just stood aside as I was unnecessarily dragged along yet another corridor. Carpet had disappeared again and was replaced with bare concrete floors. For the first time since entering the Centre I was aware that it was tunnelled from rock and I was deep inside a mountain.
Two players stood at the far end of the corridor close to what I supposed was an air vent. To my surprise and disgust they were smoking. Both carried MP5 machine pistols and wore the obligatory black suits that the rest of my captors seemed to favour. I noticed they were poorly cut and recalled there was a Marks and Spencer’s in Gib. They were the sort of thing Des would buy for a wedding do.
I mean if you are going to work for the most powerful gangsters in Europe, discover Paul Smith for God’s sake.
To the pair’s left was yet another metal door. One pushed it open and I was shoved into what was obviously some kind of cell. The four walls, ceiling and floor were rubberised. There was a stainless steel toilet and hand basin together with a raised cot covered in the same protective material as the floor. My heart started to race. I’d been in a similar room before and they were not good places to be. I’d collected an IRA guy from one just like it in Broadmoor Mental Hospital back in the day. He’d been on hunger strike and a dirty protest which hadn’t worked, so he’d then decided he was mad. He’d spent eleven months in a rubber room before he decided he was sane again. Now I was standing in one and I wasn’t keen on the interior decorations, I can tell you. They were soundproof and lightproof. Within days you would have no idea or sense of time. Solitary took on a whole new meaning.
To my dismay I was joined by Susan and Chad the big bruiser from the car. I’d taken a few kickings in my time and by the look of it I was due another.
“Take off your clothes, boy,” he said. The white spittle around his mouth so prominent, you would have thought he was permanently chewing a Rennie.
I’d never taken to the Deep South accent and it grated on me.
Susan wore that grin again and motioned for me to do as I was told.
“Not shy are we, Rick?”
I got on with it, stripped bollock naked and threw my clothes into the corner for Chad to root through.
I made no attempt to cover myself and Susan had a good look as I stood in the brash light, long enough to make my flesh crawl.
Then she stared into my gaze, her flashing blue eyes devoid of any emotion.
“I just want you to know, Rick, that when the time comes, it will be me who ends your life.” Her Afrikaans accent showed through. This time there was no smile, not even a fake.
I couldn’t help myself.
“At least I don’t have to marry you first.”
Chad had a lunge at me but I just stepped aside to safety.
Susan barked at him.
“Stop that, you oaf! Bag those clothes and come with me.”
She turned to me again, eyes like flames. “You’ll pay for that remark, asshole.”
The door was slammed shut and the lights went out.
I could hear my breathing and my heart but nothing else. I was also totally blind. I felt my way along the wall until I reached the cot, where I sat carefull
y. The rubber was cold against my nakedness and I felt terribly vulnerable. I touched my wedding ring. At least they hadn’t taken that.
Des Cogan's Story:
All my emotions had welled up inside my chest and I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Jimmy.
The bastard.
I couldn’t function. There was so much anger, hurt, regret, rejection, God only knew what was bouncing around inside me. I couldn’t even put it into words myself let alone understand it.
But Lauren came to me on the deck, there in the middle of the Straits of Gibraltar, with the world falling down around us, and held me close.
It was as if an angel from heaven itself had wrapped her wings around me, emptied my heart of pain and loathing and filled it with joy and courage all in a split second.
I liked being close to her. I missed that feeling, a woman’s touch, even though deep down, I knew we could never be more than what we were this very moment.
Lauren was folding a white tarpaulin sheet across the deck. According to the Sat Nav we were ten minutes from the RV with Williamson’s men. I’d removed all our kit from the floatation device and commandeered other bits of stuff from the boat. Torches, some flares, first aid kit etc would all come in handy, I hoped.
By my calculations we would be meeting another boat some five hundred meters from the coastline. Too close to start blasting away with any old kit, so we had to have a plan that was pretty quiet. I reckoned on four, maybe five guys to do the job of collecting us. It wasn’t going to be easy.
I finished screwing the noise suppressor on the Mac10 and un-taped the spare magazines. Then I called Lauren over from making her hiding place on the deck.
The plan wasn’t complicated, it couldn’t be.
She would lie under the tarp with the Mac10 until the boat was alongside whilst I would pretend to be tied on a chair at the back of the boat in full view.
On the nod from me she would burst out, spray the offending boat and Bob was your auntie’s husband.