by Tom Benson
It was difficult not being able to strike up a conversation, but Geordie had already learned if he wished to perform as a double agent, he’d have to master being unobtrusive. He spoke when spoken to while driving and never offered an opinion unless asked.
“Geordie,” Mental said after they’d eaten. “Would you give us a couple of minutes, mate?”
“Sure, Boss,” Geordie said. “I’ll go and wait at the car.”
“Thanks, mate.”
Geordie wandered off to the carpark. He opened the front windows of the Shogun to let fresh air blow through the vehicle. He wasn’t allowed to smoke in Mickey’s vehicle, so he lit up and wandered around close by.
He was pleased he’d been able to bluff the white dressing on his right hand. When he turned up to drive his boss, he explained how he had tripped and poured scalding coffee over his hand. He was delighted to hear this excuse being passed on when they stopped at Bridge of Weir to pick up the Colonel.
‘You won’t believe what my fuckin’ driver has done to himself,’ Mickey had said to Barrington-Cross. ‘He’s only poured hot coffee over his fuckin’ hand.’ Mental laughed.
When Geordie overheard the explanation, he glanced in the rear-view and caught the Colonel’s glance.
On Sunday, following the supposed punishment by the bikers, Geordie had wrapped his hanky around his hand, explaining to the Colonel about the bikers pouring boiling water over his hand. He said, they then applied salt and vinegar to the injury and told him they were going to bite off his fingers and eat them.
Barrington-Cross had winced and admitted to hearing loud screams across the farmyard. He told Geordie how much he admired his courage. It didn’t occur to the ex-officer that Geordie never asked about his meeting, or if he had been threatened in any way. Barrington-Cross hoped Geordie wouldn’t ask, mainly because he was too self-centred. He also didn’t want to admit how quickly he had gone for the soft option.
During his ‘punishment’ for carrying a gun, Geordie had enjoyed a drink and a chat with bikers in an outbuilding. Pedro had produced a small bottle of food colouring to create the impression that Geordie’s fingers and hand had been scalded. Simply to see the response, Pedro had suggested it would have been more fun to actually scald Geordie’s hand.
Geordie stood beside the 4 x 4 and thought back to the military operations he’d survived. He was always grateful to have left the military with his body intact, although he did have nightmares. How long he would survive this life was questionable.
He watched the two men approach together. Barrington-Cross was a well-educated, Sandhurst Academy-trained, ex-officer who looked uncomfortable in gangster company. Mental Mickey, on the other hand, lived up to his nickname and was the stereotypical Glasgow gangster. Only modern technology fazed him. They were polar opposites.
“Right, Geordie,” Mickey said as he climbed into the vehicle. “Follow the mountain roads into the Cairngorms. You can use Braemar and Aberdeen as aiming marks.”
“Got it, Boss,” Geordie said as he closed the road atlas. “The A93 is the way to go.”
The route took them along narrow and winding mountain roads. Though it was the summer months, there was snow on some of the peaks. They’d been driving through the mountain valleys for over an hour when Mental gave his next instruction.
“As we reach the top of this rise Geordie, you’ll see a huge parking place. Pull over there.”
“Okay,” Geordie said. “There’s a sign for a ski lodge ahead. Could that be it, Boss?”
“Aye, that will be right, mate.” Mental paused. “The ski lodge is on the left, but the overflow carpark is a big gravel patch on the right just before the lodge.”
The three men remained silent until they reached the carpark. On the approach, Geordie wondered if his boss had been here before. He was confident of the layout in what was a remote location.
Barrington-Cross said, “Why are we stopping here, Mickey?”
“Mr F called me this morning and told me he’d send somebody out to meet us.” He turned and looked into the Colonel’s eyes briefly, but said no more.
The retired officer was glancing left and right like a tiny animal watching for predators.
Five minutes after they’d parked, a red Range Rover approached from the opposite direction. It pulled off the road and drove around them to park facing back from whence it had come. The driver’s window rolled down silently.
“Ready when you are, gentlemen,” Simpson said, in a pleasant tone.
“Come on, Colonel,” Mental said. He waited until the other man was out of the car, and then he handed a wad of notes to his driver. “Geordie, I want you to head back down the road a bit, and book yourself into a hotel, mate.” He glanced at the other vehicle, squinted and nodded. “Book in for two nights, just in case I’m delayed. I’ll call you when I need picking up.”
“Okay, Boss,” Geordie said without any hesitation. “I’ll book into somewhere in Blairgowrie.” He got out and lifted his passengers’ baggage to place it in the back of the other vehicle.
Mental climbed into the rear seats of the Range Rover beside Barrington-Cross. The car pulled away gently across the large gravel surface towards the road.
Geordie had mentioned Blairgowrie because he knew there would be plenty of accommodation, but he had no intention of going there. He remembered a sign for a hotel on the way up the mountain road. It was at The Spittal of Glenshee. He would go there.
He put the Shogun in gear and spun it around to head back down the mountain road. He had reached a point where he didn’t trust any of the people he was driving, and he breathed a sigh of relief as he set off in the opposite direction to his boss. Geordie glanced in the rear-view in time to see the other car disappear over the rise as it headed further north into the mountains.
Geordie decided he’d wait until he was booked in before he reported to the BTL team. He already had a bad feeling about the arrangements so far, but he wanted to be close enough to help the right people if everything started to go tits-up. It always brought a smile when he thought how his military life had woven loyalty into his character.
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BTL Enterprises
Glasgow
Scotland
“Hi Geordie, I’ll put you on speaker,” Jake switched his phone to the loudspeaker. Geordie’s voice boomed out to be heard by Phil, Annabel, Jake and Ian. He explained how the day had unfolded. Mental had told him they’d be going for a drive but picking up the Colonel on the way. Geordie gave a rapid summary of snippets he’d picked up in the conversations during the journey, and he finished by saying he was in a small hotel near the Spittal of Glenshee.
“Okay mate,” Jake said. “Continue to do as Mental Mickey tells you. Keep me in the loop, no matter what time of day or night.”
Geordie was relieved to have made his report. He acknowledged and hung up.
Phil said, “Rachel is on the way to her OP location. Travelling alone she’ll make good time. She’ll report when she's set up.” He turned to Annabel.
“How are the Mental Riders doing?”
“Max has managed to put together a team of twenty guys. He’s asked some to be ready for immediate deployment.” She smiled and continued, “The twelve who attended our briefing were all acting casual, but they’re looking forward to this little shindig.”
Jake said, “You mean they’re hoping it goes pear-shaped so they can start bloody wasting people.” He received knowing smiles from around the table.
Phil said, “I paid Mike a visit yesterday and briefed him on the essentials. He’s already called me this morning to confirm he’s on board, and in his case, that means literally. He’ll be in the Clyde estuary tomorrow morning and heading north.”
“Is he the ex-Royal Marine that Jake told me about?” Ian asked, glancing from Phil to Jake and back.
“Yes,” Phil said. “He’s got both of his staff running his bike repair shop, so it leaves him free for a few days if needed. He’s got int
o the habit of setting off on a whim, so they always assume he’s gone fishing to chill out.”
“How will he manage the task alone if he’s out there for a couple of days?” Ian asked.
“As soon as Mike said he was up for it, I said I might be able to organise a crewman. I called Max and explained the situation. He called back within ten minutes with the name of the volunteer.”
“You asked for a volunteer crewman from Max’s gang?” Rachel said.
“Yeah,” Phil said. “Sinbad was in the Royal Navy before he left and joined the bikers.”
“Sinbad,” Jake said. “It couldn’t be anybody else really.”
Ian nodded. “Am I right in thinking Mike was Colin’s boss?”
“Yes,” Jake said. “It was Mike and Colin who rescued Rachel from a madman on a boat during a mission. It was the incident which got Colin thinking there was more to life than repairing and riding motorbikes.”
Rachel was lost for a moment and stared at the table as the memories were stirred.
“Getting back to the target area,” Annabel said, “I’ve told Eva to get out of the woods and hold off unless we need her. She’s extended her booking at The Invercauld Arms Hotel in Braemar. From her room on the northern side, she can keep an eye on the track entry to Fitzpatrick’s place.”
Ian said, “She’ll be safe there as long as Fitzpatrick doesn’t decide to go to the hotel for a meal or a look around.”
Jake said, “As we now know, Geordie is okay and shacked up in a hotel, but he’s within striking distance of Braemar.”
Annabel said, “I’ll get my gear packed. I have a meeting with Amy this evening to bring her up to date, and then I’ll get to my base location late tonight. If I’m there for two days, it will give me a fair idea of traffic flow. I’ll also be able to watch out for any police patrols.”
Ian said, “Will you be okay on your own?”
Annabel raised a shapely eyebrow and gave him a withering look. Phil and Jake laughed.
Phil said, “As discussed Ian, you’ll travel with me by car tomorrow. Jake will head off tonight on his bike, and we’ll liaise tomorrow.”
“Got it,” Ian said and shook his head. “I know I’ve said it before, but you guys have got a bloody awesome operation going on here.”
“It’s only as good as the team members,” Annabel said. She caught Rachel’s gaze and winked. She was rewarded with a beaming smile.
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Braemar, Grampian Mountains
Scotland
Barrington-Cross had remained silent for most of the journey from the ski lodge carpark. As they left Braemar behind and turned up into the track towards Braemartin House, his nerves got the better of him.
The Colonel said, “I’m still mystified as to why we couldn’t come all the way in your car, Mickey.”
Norrie turned and looked back at the jittery passenger. “Mr F doesn’t like too many people knowing exactly where he lives. He doesn’t want everybody coming here with drivers.”
“Right,” Barrington-Cross said, glancing up at the pine trees which made the track feel like a corridor. He still wasn’t convinced.
The Range Rover pulled up onto the ample parking area to the front of the building. Before the passengers had managed to get out, Fitzpatrick had come out and approached them, cigar in his left hand.
“Mental,” he said and shook the big man’s hand. He turned, “Sebastian, you’ve no idea how much this means to me. I’m so glad to have you here.” He paused, but before there was a reply he continued, “I hope you don’t mind me calling you Sebastian.”
“Well, I prefer Colonel.” He wondered how his first name had ever been given to such a man as Fitzpatrick, which had occurred to him the first time he’d heard the gangster use it. He hadn’t introduced himself as Sebastian since his days in the Officers’ Mess, or at meetings with genuine diplomats. Only one person knew him as Sebastian in recent times.
“Thank you, Norrie,” Fitzpatrick said. “Please take the bags up to the guest rooms. The rest of the day is yours to do as you see fit.”
“Thanks, Boss,” Simpson said. He sighed as he went around to the tailgate. He already had plans for part of his evening, and those plans involved his boss’s wife. It also included an abundance of pleasure and pain, administered appropriately.
Fitzpatrick had the main dining room laid out to look its best. The table wasn’t as large as a banquet table, but it was far more significant than a regular dining table. At five metres long it would be sufficient to handle as many dinner guests as the man of the house ever intended to have at one time.
Fitzpatrick, McGinley and Barrington-Cross were joined for dinner by Peter Henderson, who had just changed, having delivered the first shipment of gear to its storage place. Fitzpatrick sat at the head of the table, with his protégé, seated to his right.
He was pleased with Norrie as a man-Friday, but he was looking forward to moulding Peter Henderson into an all-round heartless, bastard. At the table Fitzpatrick specifically asked ‘Sebastian’ as he insisted on calling the Colonel, to sit on his left. To the left of the Colonel, Mental Mickey sat, as requested.
“So, Sebastian,” Fitzpatrick said. “You’re an ex-officer and gentleman. What do you think of my humble abode?”
“It’s rather grand, I must say,” the Colonel said. “I take it these chairs, and the other furnishings are genuine Rennie Mackintosh.”
“But of course they are my friend. I couldn’t have a home like a castle filled with fakes.”
The Colonel asked, “Will we be able to tour the whole building during our visit?”
“You most definitely will, Sebastian. I’ll take you from the battlements on the roof, all the way down to the cellars, and we’ll take a wander into the forest tomorrow.”
Peter wasn’t the most astute of men, but even he sensed something strange in Fitzpatrick’s behaviour towards the Colonel. The younger man glanced in Mental Mickey’s direction more than once, but his enquiring gaze was met by no more than a raised, scarred eyebrow.
Mental gave nothing away—to anybody.
“Yes,” Fitzpatrick said as he raised his wine glass in a toast. “Tonight we enjoy a hearty meal and celebrate the start of our venture together, and from tomorrow who knows how far we’ll all go.” He sipped his wine and then laughed as he looked around his guests.
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The Cuillin Hills, Isle of Skye
Western Scotland
Rachel arrived late, having only stopped once for coffee and a snack. If truth be known, she enjoyed the fast ride north so much she didn’t think about physical nourishment. She could already see the massive expanse of water out to the west as she turned her bike off the main road. Rachel followed a rugged footpath for a few hundred metres, headlight on.
For the final part of the journey, she would have to perform a recce on foot before setting up her OP. She parked her bike away from the narrow path, before spending an hour walking around crags, overhangs and small hills until she found the ideal position.
It took skill and more than a little courage to ride and then push the big Kawasaki to get it into the location. Once Rachel had the bike hidden amongst bushes she unloaded her camouflage net and draped it over the bike. As always it was parked facing her exit route. She packed her leathers and helmet securely with the bike and then lifted her backpack.
Rachel set up a lean-to shelter to sleep under and dug a small hole in the turf nearby for her camping cooker. It took twenty minutes to get her house in order. She called Phil to complete three of the four C’s, camouflage, comforts, and communications. In her case, the C’s were in a different order to the professional soldier. The fourth C was coffee which could wait until morning.
“Hi, Boss,” she said. “I’m set up in location. I’ll call at first light, but for now, I can see a small pier down below, and there’s nowhere else for a boat to come in or go out.” Dimples appeared in her cheeks when she received a well done. “Goodnight, Boss.”
Ten minutes later, Rachel was zipped into her double-insulated bag and asleep.
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Tummel Bridge, Tay Forest
Scotland
Annabel had phoned ahead and booked herself into a bed and breakfast place in the tiny hamlet earlier in the day. She told the owner she might be arriving late, but wouldn’t require an evening meal.
She was pleased to have had mainly clear roads, so the Audi’s power was put to good use. Before starting her journey north, she’d had a meeting with Amy Hughes in Glasgow. It had taken half an hour. The two women talked over dinner and discussed the outline of the mission, and the ‘actions on’ or as Amy remembered to call them, the ‘what-if’ scenarios.
Amy was a good police officer, but she’d seen the team at their best, and it was only with thanks to them she was alive and managed to continue with her career. In her case, Amy was able to allow justice to come before the law on occasion.
As Annabel took a late shower before bed, she thought back over her chat with Amy. She then wondered how Rachel was doing and hoped the men of the team would be careful. “I must be careful,” she muttered as she closed her eyes. “I’m becoming humanised.”
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BTL Enterprises
Glasgow
Scotland
Phil and Ian had remained in the building when everybody in a regular job had locked up and gone home. Thanks to their technical skills, and due to the BTL offices being on an otherwise empty floor, the team were able to isolate the alarm system. This allowed members to stay overnight without the knowledge of any of the large building’s security team.
Jake had departed at the same time as the regular office workers. Once the final two men were satisfied all was in order, Phil made an evening meal in the small, but adequate kitchen. Afterwards, they enjoyed a beer and stood by the main window looking out over the River Clyde as they chatted.