by Tom Benson
“Change lever to automatic, squeeze the trigger and count to two,” Mike shouted.
Five thuds sounded from the gun, and the biker shook his head. “Fuck.”
Mike grinned but didn’t laugh aloud. He reached out and touched Sinbad’s shoulder.
“Okay, mate,” Mike shouted. “This time, squeeze and count ... one ... two.”
Three rapid thuds sounded from the gun, and the session was properly underway. Sinbad received more detailed instruction and used an entire thirty-round magazine before hitting one of the floats. Mike didn’t believe it was the one being aimed for.
When Sinbad was told he’d hit a target, he reacted as if he’d won a gold medal at the Olympics, but then calmed down and tried to act casual. He turned away to rub his bruised shoulder, but he wouldn’t be able to hide the pain. The next time he fired the gun the new pressure would hurt like hell.
“Okay, Sinbad, well done,” Mike said. “We’ll pick up the floats, head closer to the west coast of the island and fix up a brew before the next session.”
“Are we firing at the island?”
“Yeah, and I’ve no doubt you’ll hit it.” Mike laughed. “Seriously, Jake will have set up a couple of targets for us, complete with a flag for wind direction.” He paused. “Don’t worry—the team will be on the other side until lunchtime.”
“Don’t we put one of them bandolier things on the gun?”
“You’re thinking of the Jimpy as we used to call it—the General Purpose Machine Gun,” Mike said. “I prefer this baby because I used one for so long. I’m sentimental about some things.” He laughed again. “It’s easier to use this weapon alone if required.”
“Do you need two guys for the Jimpy?”
“To be practical you do, unless you’re making a Hollywood movie.”
Sinbad caught on immediately and burst into laughter.
Jake had set off early and fixed up targets and a bright yellow flag on the west coast, as required by the guys on the boat. He returned to base camp and enjoyed breakfast with the others.
“There will be no safety ropes today,” Jake said. “We’ll wear helmets and gloves, so the worst I expect anybody to experience is bruising or a fracture.”
“Bloody charming.” Eva finished her second big mug of hot tea.
The others laughed. In previous lessons, Eva had been less than enthusiastic about the abseiling aspect, although she climbed well enough.
“What goes up must come down,” Rachel had said, remembering her first time.
It took an hour to reach the rock face Jake had chosen for the training session. Jake climbed first and secured the rope they’d be using for the abseiling. The climb was two hundred feet and required average ability, which was sufficient.
By the time she’d successfully climbed and abseiled down three times, Eva admitted she was enjoying herself. It was a productive, confidence-building session.
In mid-afternoon, Ian and Rachel organised a meal, and right on time the blue and white cruiser pulled in and was tied off.
Sinbad happily answered questions from the others about how his shooting experience had gone. Jake had primed the others, knowing Sinbad would need a bit more support. The death of Snake was still a fresh wound to the BTL team, but more to the members of the Mental Riders.
Ian went around with Jake to collect the remnants of the targets set out for Mike and Sinbad. The targets were numbered to allow identification for Mike to verify the accuracy from the firing at sea. By early evening all equipment and weapons were packed and ready for loading onto Mike’s boat.
11. Keeping Track
.
King’s Park
Glasgow
McGinley sat in her conservatory on Sunday evening, sipping whiskey and looking at the plans and drawings she’d been given by Simpson. While on-site at the castle ruin on Friday, McGinley asked numerous questions, and Simpson was equal to the challenge.
The woman sat now looking at her pictures and the layout of the floors. Yes, she liked it a lot. It took a couple of hours to drive there but was out of reach for the coppers who seemed to have a knack for turning up everywhere.
McGinley loved the idea of the secret tunnel from the mainland, or at least she enjoyed it once she’d gotten over the first time of being whizzed through it in the BMW.
Simpson had told her to think about it over the weekend, and if she wanted to go ahead, he’d deal with the leasing of the property and the grounds which appeared to be listed as Ministry of Defence property.
McGinley envisaged a meeting of the gang leaders she’d listed. Yes, they’d be impressed. She had another drink and before going to bed decided she’d email Simpson the next morning. He could get the ball rolling and secure the location.
.
Monday 4th October
BTL Enterprises
Glasgow
“I’ll finish updating the board if you guys would like to organise the brews.”
“Will Jake be joining us?” Eva crossed the room.
“Yes,” Rachel said. “He’ll be with us shortly. He had an urgent meeting with Sam Griffiths.”
Five minutes later, Ian and Eva were sipping coffee and watching Rachel drawing solid, or dotted lines to connect characters on the battle-board; depending on whether the link was definite or suspected. When the board was completed, Rachel sat at the conference table and nodded her thanks before she sipped her coffee. She finished her notes and looked up.
“I apologise for the silence guys, but I promise it will be worthwhile when Jake gets in, and we match up all the new information. Most of it will make sense.” She sipped her coffee again. “Did you enjoy the weekend away?”
Eva nodded. “I’ll admit, the weapon training was good, but the unarmed combat and climbing without a safety rope left me with a few bruises.”
“But, in a good way?” Rachel suggested, grinning.
“Yes, in a good way. I’m more confident, and looking forward to the next sessions.”
Ian said, “I loved every aspect of the training, but like Eva, I think I enjoyed the weapon training the most.”
Rachel nodded. “It still makes me laugh when I watch some of the antics of the heroes in movies. You don’t appreciate how much there is involved in real weapon handling until you’ve been shown correctly.”
“I was jealous of Sinbad,” Ian said. “Using the machine gun from a boat sounded like a crazy thing to do, but I’d love to try it sometime.”
“I mentioned it to Jake,” Rachel said. “Next time we go out there we’ll all have a machine-gun session with Mike on the boat.”
Eva said, “I asked Mike about the idea of the sling, and he said it can be used on land too. He said in some circumstances the infantry have been known to fire at low-flying enemy aircraft.”
“Wow,” Ian said. “Did he say if it was effective?”
“Apparently it’s not imperative to bring the plane down, but unless the pilot is using ‘fire and forget’ missiles, it ruins his concentration to have a stream of bullets incoming.”
Ian laughed. “I imagine it would, but how would the pilot know?”
“The guys who are shooting have their ammunition loaded with a tracer every fifth round. The tracer is illuminated, and they look like a stream of hot metal on the way to the target.”
“Now, that would definitely put me off,” Ian said.
“Mike had every other round loaded as a tracer so Sinbad could see where his shots were going.”
Ian and Rachel both nodded and smiled.
There was a click, and the interior door opened. Jake entered wearing his leathers and carrying his helmet. “Good morning guys. I’ll be two minutes.” He turned and pushed the door to the inner corridor.
“I’ll fix you a coffee,” Ian said and followed Jake into the Admin area.
“Here we go,” Rachel said when the team was assembled around the table. “We’ve got information on the murders on both sides of the Atlantic.” She paused
. “We are now in possession of a few pieces of information which are not going to be made public yet.”
“How good are our sources?” Eva asked.
“The best,” Rachel said. “Our intel on the murders in Vancouver has come from Amy, and from Jake’s contact in the NYPD.”
Jake said, “Maria has assured me she’s kept the details from prying eyes because she knows it’s important for us to get a break on the sequence of events.”
Rachel continued. “We now know the two people in the apartment were killed by the same weapon; the gun which belonged to the male visitor. The dead woman was Stephanie Henderson as we were told, and the man was Andy Hicks, who worked for the McGinley gang. Hicks was a big guy, which suggests he was held at gunpoint by the killer, and after he surrendered his weapon it was used on him first.”
“Excuse me,” Eva said. “How can Amy be sure that this guy Hicks was killed first?”
“Stephanie Henderson was shot with the same weapon as Hicks, which means she was alive when he arrived at her apartment. There is a strong possibility the killer was in the apartment when Henderson came home.” Rachel glanced at her notes. “A disturbing aspect of Henderson’s condition was evidence of her being tortured before being shot.”
Ian said, “Torture seems to be playing a big part in the recent murders.”
“Importantly,” Rachel said, “we have more than one person conducting the treatment.”
“How do we know?” Ian asked, squinting.
“The forensic team in Vancouver has ascertained the person who tortured Henderson with a blade, was left-handed. We know from local sources, the person who killed Snake was also left-handed.”
Ian said, “What about the guy you and Eva delivered across the river, and the dead prison officer found in the city?”
“Both showed signs of torture, but by a right-handed assailant with a blunt instrument and a blade,” Rachel said.
The others listened intently as facts were related. Jake was aware of most of the information but was keen for Rachel to deal with this aspect of the briefing.
“In all probability,” Rachel said, “Mr Hicks was on a mission to interrogate or kill the Henderson woman, which meant she was on borrowed time. The RCMP in Canada is aware there was a third party involved, but so far we don’t believe they have as much evidence as we do.” She smiled and flicked the remote control for the projector.
Two strands of hair were displayed on the large white screen.
“On the left,” Rachel said, “is a strand of blonde hair. It is neither Stephanie Henderson’s, nor the killer’s, and before you ask, it didn’t belong to Hicks—he was bald. The hair is synthetic and comes from a wig.”
Ian and Eva both nodded.
Rachel said, “The hair on the right, is dark brown, human, and belongs to a woman. We also know she has been known to have used peroxide in the recent past. Our killer was a Caucasian woman who is naturally dark-haired, but probably goes blonde as a disguise.”
There was silence in the room as the team all stared at the picture of the two strands of hair which said so much.
“We are confident the killer is left-handed,” Rachel said. “Latex gloves were worn, but in places where a trace was taken on furniture or fittings, it was right-handed—which suggests she had something in her other hand most of the time.”
“How could such a theory be supported?” Eva asked.
“It was Eddie Malone, who came up with the explanation,” Jake said. “Eddie went over there to work with Amy. He was keen to walk through with the forensic team, and he noted the final act, which he believes confirms the killer left-hand preference.” Jake sipped his coffee before he continued.
“There was a flat, right hand used against the door surface on the outside, which indicates the left hand turned the door handle. Using both hands ensured the door made no noise when it was closed from the outside.”
Eva said. “What makes Amy believe the hair was left accidentally if so many other precautions were taken by the killer?”
Rachel said, “Natural hair will fall out of its own accord, but hair from a hairpiece will usually only come loose with some persuasion.”
Eva nodded.
“As you all know, I’ve come from a short meeting with Sam Griffiths,” Jake said. “Strands of hair were found near Snake’s motorbike, but they didn’t belong to him. The DNA is the same as the human hair found by the team in Vancouver. Snake’s killer may have been wearing a safety helmet and removed it for a while.”
Ian said, “Our mysterious killer is a left-handed woman, who changes her hair colour, and rides a motorbike. Surely a trace of the DNA will show up in national records on one or other side of the Atlantic?”
“Not necessarily,” Jake said. “There are several reasons for DNA to exist as a matter of public record, but unless our culprit is a convicted person, or fits one of a few other profiles, there is no reason for anyone to have her blood.”
“She must be using more than one identity,” Eva said. “Even if we started checking out blood samples we would need to know where she’s been as a resident.”
“We are aware we’re dealing with a professional,” Ian said. “Having murdered in two continents in such a short period, we must consider flights across the world. She wouldn’t have flown directly to any of her destinations which means tracing her movements would be a lengthy task.”
Rachel nodded. “Until we have a name or accurate description we’ll create our killer’s profile on the main notice board piece by piece.” She stood and drew a line down the centre of the board. On the left side, she wrote ‘Assassin,' and listed all the facts known so far.
Jake said, “It’s a small consolation, but my contact across the pond will continue to call in favours on our behalf.”
Eva stopped scribbling on her pad. “We also can’t confirm if this killer is an independent or working within an organisation.”
Jake said, “You’ve highlighted one of the most worrying aspects of this case. If it were gang-related, we’d have more chance of discovering something useful.”
.
Glasgow Green
Simpson parked the BMW in a car park on Charlotte Street. He strolled toward the north entrance of the grand expanse of parkland. The text message had been brief and suggested the time of the meeting, the venue, and direction of entry. He’d already deduced his partner in crime was cunning but felt such an admiration for her audacity it softened his usual attitude.
“Take a seat,” a woman’s voice said.
Simpson had walked past the bench and turned towards the person who’d spoken to him. An attractive redhead occupied the seat. She was sipping coffee from a thermos cup and eating a sandwich. At her side were a folded newspaper and a plastic container containing an apple.
“I know we’ve only met twice before,” Simpson said, “but I’d never have recognised you.”
“Thank you—I’ll take that as a compliment.” Crawford sipped her drink and looked around the area. “How is it going with the widow?”
“We’ve been to the location, and I think she’s impressed, but I’m waiting for confirmation to go ahead and secure the lease.”
“You sound as if you’ve got something on your mind, Brian.”
“I’ve got two questions, although you’ve probably got things covered. How certain are we that we’ll get the place if McGinley goes for it, and how soon do we go to the next stage?”
“You let me worry about the planning, and the lease is secured and waiting. Your primary task is to ensure she goes along with the ideas.” She sipped her coffee. “Strings will be pulled, and the place will have her name listed within a week.”
“There will be no connection to either of us?”
“No—keep it that way when you discuss it with her.”
“Okay. What’s your plan regarding the vigilantes, and the bikers?”
“If possible, I want to deal with the leader in both teams personally. I’ll l
eave you and Mrs McGinley to deal with the others as you wish. Of course, I’m hoping none of them survives your personal touch.” She paused. “If everything works out well, you should have enough firepower in use to deal with all of them.”
“What about my retainer?”
“If you’d like to borrow my newspaper for a minute, you’ll find a package in there containing £10,000 in cash. You’ll have to flash a lot of money around for the next phase, which I’d like you to begin as soon as we have the castle deal sorted.”
“Maybe we could get together for a celebration drink when it’s all over?”
“We might do that, Brian.” The sweet expression gave more credence to the words than they deserved. “Maybe when it’s all over we’ll share more than a drink.”
A smartly dressed man carrying a briefcase strode past on his way through the park. As he passed the pair on the bench, he glanced at them but continued on his way.
The woman’s smile faded for a moment, and her right eyebrow rose as she watched the businessman stride along the concrete path toward Nelson’s monument a few hundred yards away.
Crawford finished her coffee and screwed the gleaming cup onto the thermos. “I know you’ll be eager to get on,” she said. “I deposited £50,000 in your account this morning, and with each successive stage you’ll gain £20,000.”
Simpson tapped the laptop bag which hung over his shoulder. “I’ll go and find somewhere to check my messages.”
“I’ll be in touch,” Crawford said. “I think we’re evolving as a good team.”
Simpson watched as she packed away her office-worker lunch-box, stood and sauntered along the path in an easterly direction; towards the Nelson monument. More than ever, he was looking forward to celebrating the end of this whole operation.
The Crawford woman appeared to be in no hurry, but then neither was he. Simpson was intrigued to know where she might be going next. For five minutes the beautiful figure continued along the path. Simpson stood and took a route to the northern part of the park. When satisfied he wouldn’t be seen, he turned to walk parallel to the woman.