Beyond The Law Box Set

by Tom Benson

  “What the fuck is going on?” Reilly demanded. The grin disappeared as he turned and glanced across the reservoir.

  “Your man can’t see me while I’m on this side of your vehicle,” Phil said. “Besides, his rifle is useless without this.” He threw a small piece of metal out of the car window, and it landed on the grass.

  Reilly stared at the scrap of metal.

  Phil said, “It’s the firing pin from your partner’s weapon.” He lifted his left hand and rested the barrel of his 9mm pistol over the edge of the door. “Your sniper is presently tied to a tree, and he’ll be staying there until you rescue him. Now I want your fucking phone.”

  Reilly slowly lifted his phone from his pocket and handed it over.

  Phil said, “A few miles northeast of the reservoir is a small track into the woods on the right-hand side. It’s between the villages of Gonachan and Fintry.” He raised an eyebrow, “Got it?”

  “What if I don’t find it?”

  “I’ll contact a couple of people and tell them why your customers sometimes disappear.” Phil placed his pistol on the passenger seat. “You’ve got twenty minutes.” Phil reversed and drove off. He checked his rear-view mirror as he drove along the track, and saw the Irishman frantically trying to manoeuvre his 4 x 4.

  It was precisely eighteen minutes later when Reilly’s vehicle skidded off the main road into the small forest track and slewed to a halt in the space available—between two trees. Phil’s car was parked facing the road.

  Phil stepped from behind bushes. “Let’s start over.”

  Reilly turned. The wide-eyed look showed his true colours. “Okay, okay.” He flicked the tailgate open on the 4 x 4 and stood back.

  Phil opened the boot of his Celica. “Pass me the MP5.” He watched closely.

  “Get it your fucking self,”

  “You’ve already pissed me off Reilly—don’t push it.”

  The slippery Irishman stepped forward and lifted the Heckler and Koch machine pistol.

  Phil said, “If we have any hidden surprises with this consignment you have the next few seconds to tell me.” Phil tucked his pistol into his waistband and stripped the Heckler and Koch to inspect it.

  Two minutes later, he was assembling the deadly equipment. “Magazines ....”

  Reilly handed over five magazines.

  Phil tested each for condition and spring pressure. “Ammunition ....”

  “When I’ve got my money—”

  “I wouldn’t shoot you, Reilly. You’d be a waste of a good fucking bullet.” The ammunition was handed over, and Phil rapidly filled a magazine before testing the fit with the weapon.

  Phil made his selection from the weapons. He stripped and reassembled each weapon quickly, and efficiently, and in every case, he tested the supporting magazines. As the final weapon was packed into a prepared canvas holdall, Phil turned to Reilly.

  “If any of this equipment lets me down, I’ll find you, tie you to a tree out here, and fucking skin you alive.”

  Reilly’s pink complexion turned ashen, and he swallowed hard.

  “Here’s your money.” Phil held out a small canvas holdall containing the cash and dropped it beside the 4 x 4. “It’s been an education, for both of us.” He got into his car.

  “What about my phone?” Reilly cried.

  “Oh yeah,” Phil said and threw the phone into the undergrowth. The device no longer had a battery or memory card. Phil drove onto the B818 and headed back to Glasgow.

  Phil cleaned and dropped off most of the weapons, ammunition, and explosives at his lockup. He would carry the remainder up to the apartment when dark, with less chance of anyone seeing the large black holdall.

  On the late evening news, a re-run of an interview with an Asian shopkeeper was screened. It had been filmed outside the burnt out remains of his store on a small side street off Great Western Road. Phil turned up the volume and watched with interest.

  When the storekeeper appeared in front of the camera in tears, it highlighted something - the man believed it had been no accident.

  ‘I don’t know if it was some kids messing around,’ Harjit told the reporter, ‘but if it was, it got out of hand.’ The Asian/Glaswegian was visibly distraught. ‘I can fix a shop, but my family live upstairs—I have small children. They could have been killed.’ The camera panned around to the charred remains of the store, and briefly to the man with tears streaming down his face.

  The reporter turned to her right and introduced the storekeeper’s brother, keen to mention he too ran a store nearby. His name was Aleem, and though his voice betrayed a hint of nerves, his eyes burned into the camera lens as he spoke.

  ‘If you know of any way to stop these things happening to us, please help, before an innocent person dies.’

  Phil had seen such a look and plea before. Aleem was taking a massive risk, but the man was openly asking for help. Two minutes after the news report, Phil went through to his ops room and made a note of the location on his Glasgow map on the wall. He ran a coloured string out to one side and labelled it ‘Shop fire—protection?’ It was labelled the same way as the other location, which was ‘Alfredo Pizza—protection’.

  On the pad on the dining table-cum-desk, Phil now had a list of possible missions.

  Phil had spent many years under pressure and in active service scenarios. He’d forgotten the sensation of nervousness. In the evening, he showered and made himself presentable, wearing a shirt and trousers instead of jeans. He packed an overnight bag and drove across town to the affluent area of Bearsden in Glasgow’s northwest.

  Eagle Crescent was on the west side of the district. All the roads in the neighbourhood were related to golf, and there was a course nearby. The houses in the area were detached properties with pleasant gardens and driveways. Most had either a large car or a new one.

  Phil drove slowly, along the quiet tree-lined road. He was told it was the house with white gates and white-painted concrete pillars instead of wooden posts. He parked in the driveway and lifted the bouquet of flowers from the back seat.

  “Hello handsome,” Stella said. “Welcome to my humble abode.” She was wearing a pale blue blouse and a short cream-coloured skirt and dark blue stilettos.

  “Hello,” Phil said and stopped to appreciate his host. “You look stunning.”

  “You do realise you’ve earned extra points.” She laughed. “You didn’t need them.” She accepted the flowers and kissed Phil on both cheeks. Stella glanced up and down the street before she ushered him inside.

  .

  Saturday 6th July

  Phil stood on the doorstep with his overnight bag in his hand. It was 07:30, and although different to his routine, he’d had a morning workout before breakfast. He smiled at Stella as she stood inside the doorway looking radiant in her black diaphanous dressing gown.

  “Before you go, Phil, I have to tell you something.”

  “Go on.”

  “If this how you treat a woman when you’ve no romantic involvement, I’m going to work on your emotions.” She leant forward and kissed him on the lips.

  “Till we meet again,” he said.

  Phil drove across the city and was back in his apartment by 08:00.

  At 10:50, Phil parked up near Kelvingrove Art Gallery and Museum. It was another of those famous Glasgow landmarks he remembered from his childhood, walking around looking at the paintings, sculpture and natural history exhibits. He strolled around the path to the pond on the east side.

  It was sunny with a light breeze. Phil was wearing a lightweight sleeveless safari jacket over a T-shirt and jeans. He walked along the pathway looking for his new partner. His attention was caught by a woman leaning on the black metal fence feeding the ducks. The woman had long blonde hair, was wearing a white denim jacket with matching mini-skirt and an orange blouse. Phil passed and turned towards her.

  “Hi,” Annabel said.

  “Hi,” Phil said, pretending he’d recognised her. He leant on the fenc
e beside her.

  Annabel emptied the contents of the food over the grass, and the ducks squabbled.

  Annabel and Phil wandered off along the path, like any of the other couples taking a stroll. As they walked, Phil said he’d known it was her, though she was wearing a wig. Strangely he didn’t recognise her with the same colour hair the day he’d interviewed Rachel.

  By noon, they’d discussed Phil’s wish list of missions and proposed tactics. They both had a good knowledge of strategy which made the conversation enjoyable. Their main difference in experience was Phil had been a team player most of his life, and Annabel had worked solo.

  As they talked about the situations, they could both see how their experiences were going to help. They were eager to get into the action to see how their unique team might work to fulfil the role Phil envisaged.

  Annabel suggested a bite to eat before they went their separate ways. While they enjoyed lunch together in a nearby restaurant, Phil gave Annabel a history lesson on the Ice-cream Wars of the mid-eighties in Glasgow. He explained, it was suspected, but never proven it was all drug-related.

  Annabel said, “They’ve had regular ice-cream vans touring the streets for years. They visit the outlying housing estates every day and night. It’s a wonderful method of getting illegal gear out there. It would be impossible to police the trafficking.”

  “You’ll see, to this day, the vans are used for their proper purpose,” he said. “I don’t know if drug movement is taking place, but it’s something it would take an army to stop. At some point, I’d like to make a dent in the illegal business, if it exists.”

  “I’ve noted newspaper reports recently about shootings and executions being related to territorial feuds.”

  “Yes, and most are related to heroin and suchlike.”

  “It would be a good idea to deal with the other things you’ve highlighted.” Annabel touched his arm. “We can’t change the world Phil, but we could upset a lot of crooks.”

  “You’re right of course,” he said. “I’m eager to punish bad guys.”

  Annabel took a sip of tea and placed her cup down before clasping her hands on the table in front of her. “You’re already underway, but now you’ve got back-up, and we’ll be working with our team in the next few days.”

  “Thanks, Annabel.”

  “For what?” she said. “Stating the obvious?”

  “No,” he shook his head. “Thanks for reminding me to keep my feet on the ground.”

  “Would you like me to make the phone call regarding Jake’s training?” She lifted her cup, which hid the smile creeping onto her lips.

  “Yes, please do,” he said, “I wanted to have our first full team briefing on Monday morning—it would be better if Jake were free to go straight to his task.”

  “Jake’s program is flexible and will be tailored to our needs.” They held each other’s gaze, and Annabel continued. “What are your first impressions of Rachel?”

  “I think she shows a lot of promise. She doesn’t boast of her abilities, but she has a quiet confidence.” He remained silent while a family group went past the table on their way out. “I’d appreciate it if you would observe Jake and Rachel at our briefings.”

  “I thought you were the body language expert.”

  “I’m sure you’ll know what you’re looking for.”

  “Oh, I do.” Her eyes remained on him as she finished her latte.

  Phil grinned, as he admitted he hadn’t recognised her because of the change of hair colouring and style. She laughed and told him he’d have to keep his wits about him.

  During her initial interview with Rachel, Annabel had suggested a set of wigs and said she’d help organise a shopping trip when Hawk was happy with the team set-up.

  8. Testing Times

  .

  Sunday 7th July

  By 05:00, Phil was on a disused army firing range an hour’s drive north of Glasgow. He cleared a small area on the overgrown firing point and laid out his weapons and ammunition before measuring a fifty-metre range for test-firing. The targets he’d prepared were mounted on wooden posts forty-five centimetres in height.

  It took Phil an hour to test-fire, zero, and adjust his newly acquired Sig Sauer 9mm pistol, Heckler and Koch MP5 machine pistol, and Tallon powered-crossbow. For good measure, he tested and practised with the Browning 9mm pistol he’d been using thus far.

  Phil knew he could have found a location closer to Glasgow, but his final tests would have attracted attention. He packed away all the firearms and took his other small holdall to an old shed situated at the back of the range. He unpacked low-yield detonating cord, high-yield detonating cord, detonators, and small quantities of Semtex explosive.

  The low-yield detcord would be used in practice for triggering explosives like the Semtex, but the high-yield cord would be useful for something closer to home, like booby-trapping his lockup, and the entrance to his second apartment. Time spent on rehearsals is seldom wasted as Phil knew. He used varying lengths of cord and quantities of explosive. When content with results, he packed the remainder and returned to Glasgow.

  On the outskirts of the city, his phone buzzed. “Hi.”

  Annabel explained she had located two brothels, which were using young, non-British, women. On another topic, she told him about an ad in the ‘classified’ section of a Saturday evening newspaper. Phil had seen the ad but didn’t recognise it as a cry for help. He asked Annabel for the contact number and suggested she contact Rachel.

  The initial team brief would be at the lockup - 08:00; Monday. Jake would miss the session because he had an appointment elsewhere.

  Phil pulled over and called the number from the newspaper ad. He spoke to the nervous storekeeper. The man had been warned about doing anything stupid and was worried. Phil gave a location and time. He assured Aleem he’d be safe, and he agreed to meet.

  At 12:45 Phil was seated at the back of a coffee shop on Byres Road, close to the Botanical Gardens. His notebook and pen were on the table, and he was reading the Sunday Mail.

  Phil was interested in the story about a virus affecting the police computer network. The police had made no comment, but the story read:

  ‘The details are unconfirmed, but it appears the Police National Computer, the PNC in Scotland has been temporarily disconnected from the English system. A source has suggested to our reporter the Scottish network was disabled by a computer virus on or around Tuesday 2nd July, 1996.’

  Phil could see the article was highlighting the virus as a temporary setback, but the reporter was making it an issue the police had not made the news public. The security firewall had been breached, suggesting the virus had been introduced in a police station within Scotland.

  It meant the Scottish police divisions were isolated from the other forces in the United Kingdom until the problem was resolved. There’d be no cross-referencing of information on criminal activity such as known associates, past offences, etc. They would be compelled to use the paper filing system, by using a collator within each station. It was a prehistoric method when compared to their modern working practices.

  For a moment, Phil considered the implications. The more he thought about it, the more he could turn it to his advantage. If it was sabotage, it meant somebody within organised crime in Scotland had orchestrated the failure of the system. It also meant unless they had an incredible computer hacker, they’d used somebody on the inside.

  At 12:55 Phil finished his lunch and lifted his notebook. He jotted down several notes regarding the PNC virus as a reminder to investigate the possibilities. It would be an excellent topic to bring up at the team briefing on Monday.

  He read about the lack of progress with the investigation into the recent murders of McSherry, and Barnes; the two gangland hit-men.

  Of more interest was a story regarding the fire in the convenience store off Great Western Road. The fire could have killed a young family who lived above the store. Phil wanted the article to be uppermos
t in his mind before he met Aleem.

  The shopkeeper hesitated at the entrance to the cafe. When inside, he walked straight to the back where Phil sat with notebook and pen in front of him on the table.

  Aleem whispered. “You are Mister—”

  “Hawk,” Phil stood to shake the man’s hand. “There’s no Mister—it’s Hawk.”

  “I am Aleem Singh.” The young man’s gaze was flitting left and right constantly.

  “Sit, and calm down, Aleem. You’re safe here.” Phil nodded to the man at the counter.

  Phil explained to Aleem, he was freelance and assured him his methods would be effective. He warned him the gangsters might return with the aim of finding the person who was halting their activities. The storekeeper would be safe. They discussed Aleem’s younger brother Harjit, and how the situation was affecting him and his family.

  The meeting lasted forty-five minutes. Phil suspected the Singh brothers had been selected, to ensure other, weaker individuals continued to pay protection money. By the time they finished their chat, Phil had a description of his next targets.

  Aleem said he was concerned he and his brother would be paying one person to get rid of another.

  Phil shook his head. “I don’t expect you, or your brother to pay my associates or me.”

  “How do we compensate you if you rid us of these animals? It would be a matter of honour if you were to do this for us.”

  “I have a suggestion if you’d like to repay us,” Phil said. “Provide support to the local community. Perhaps you could sponsor a school activity, buy equipment or something similar. It would bring you goodwill, custom, and support from the local area.”

  “Please consider it done, Mr Hawk.”

  When the two men stood and shook hands, Aleem sighed. He had shared the massive burden with an individual who could help, and his family would be safe.

  Before his new client left the cafe, Phil was already forming a plan. He had put Aleem at ease and told him to continue running his store as usual, but no update was to be given to Harjit—yet.