Beyond The Law Box Set

by Tom Benson

  Simpson returned to the Beamer, and the two cars followed the partially secure route to the castle ruin.

  .

  Fort Etive

  The BMW and the Mercedes came up through the short tunnel into the car park level of Fort Etive. They entered the large chamber, and a flicker of light occurred before the freshly repaired system operated. A small, but adequate light glowed high in each corner. The two big cars were parked alongside each other, and all the occupants got out.

  “Did you have a pleasant journey, Boss?” Simpson said.

  “I did, thank you, Brian,” McGinley said. “I’m impressed with the new lights.”

  “If Tug takes the other guys downstairs, I can show you what we achieved on the upper floor.” Simpson turned to Tug and inclined his head. He turned to Zak. “Turn the cars around mate.”

  Zak nodded and jumped into the seat of the Merc.

  “Right,” Tug said. “You two guys come with me, and I’ll show you the accommodation.”

  Freddie said, “Nobody mentioned anything to me about staying overnight.”

  “Nor me,” Renton said.

  “You won’t need any overnight stuff.” Tug indicated with an extended arm for them to go ahead of him to the stone staircase in the corner.

  The three men went down the old stone steps. The stairs were narrow and worn in the middle. A faint light glowed from somewhere down below to create an eerie shadow on the rough-hewn wall surfaces.

  At the bottom of the stairs, a large metal door stood ajar. The light source was from the corridor beyond. The door had wide sliding bolts at the top and bottom on the outside. The bolts should have been rusted into position, but they had a hint of a shine on the edges.

  “You can both wait in the first room on the left there,” Tug said. “Are there two bunks in there?”

  “Yeah,” Renton said. “What’s going on, Tug?”

  “I’ll be back in a while. Relax and chat until I get back.”

  The two men stood silently in the converted dungeon. When Tug left them and reached the stairs, it was time to talk.

  Renton said, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

  “What do you mean?” Freddie said. “I could ask you the same thing. I work for Mrs McGinley.”

  “Since when?”

  “I started a few weeks ago.” Freddie continued with his cover story. “I tried for a job with one of the gangs in the east end of the city, but there were no positions. I did a few odd jobs for Mental Mickey, so it seemed right to work for his widow.”

  “Bollocks,” Renton said. “You were on that fucked up ambush out near Balloch. How the fuck did you survive?”

  Freddie tore off his jacket and pulled down his shirt. “You see that scar on my arm mate, that’s a fucking bullet wound.”

  “Yeah, well explain how come those fuckers who shot you didn’t kill you?”

  “I was lying in a corner with blood all around me. Maybe the shooters thought I was fucking dead. I wasn’t gonna ask them.” Freddie paused. “While we’re at it, if you know so much about what happened, how come you’re not fucking dead?”

  “I got knocked out, and when I opened my eyes there was nobody about, so I fucking legged it.”

  “Bollocks,” Freddie said. “Who knocked you out?”

  “A big—” Renton stopped himself. “I don’t know who it was. I was hit from behind.”

  “You didn’t have that scar on your face when I last saw you at Balloch. How did you get it?”

  Renton touched his face. “In a fight,” he lied.

  The bright, bare light bulb above their heads prevented either of the men seeing the tiny microphone fitted near the light cable.

  .

  Inverawe

  Rachel arrived at the campsite near Inverawe as the cloak of late evening descended on the area. She checked her location and was satisfied she was within one hundred yards of the phone signal. A teenage lad stood near the barrier. Rachel pushed her bike out of sight.

  “Hi there,” she said, approaching and tucking her safety helmet under her arm. “Is there a toilet around here I could use—I can’t wait until I reach Oban?”

  “Yeah, I’m sure it’ll be okay.” The teenager appraised the attractive woman in leathers. He pointed. “Straight across there, between the two white static caravans. The ladies’ toilets are on the left side.”

  “You’re a sweetheart,” Rachel said. “Will I need a key?”

  “Nah, they’re not locked overnight.”

  Rachel reached the rectangular toilet block, which was a converted static caravan with additional plumbing. She lifted the decoder from her jacket pocket, and the small green light flashed rapidly. As she walked towards the back of the block, Rachel saw four large flower pots. The green light became constant when Rachel reached the containers.

  On leaving, when she reached the barrier, Rachel realised the teenager standing in the shadows was watching her. She leant her head back and ran her free hand through her hair before she walked around the barrier smiling, and donned her helmet.

  Ten minutes after leaving the campsite, Rachel pulled over into a narrow track in the forest. She cut the engine on her bike and pushed it further in among the trees before she covered it with a lightweight camouflaged tarpaulin. From this point, she’d conduct an initial recce on foot.

  Rachel changed into a one-piece camouflaged overall, strapped on her shoulder holster and loaded her Browning automatic. Everything else she would need for a night and morning recce, including snacks and water were packed in her small backpack. As a precaution, she strapped her knife and scabbard to her right thigh.

  17. Openings

  .

  Fort Etive

  Freddie and Renton had been in their heated debate about each other’s background, and there had been no sound of slamming or locking doors when Tug left them.

  Freddie held a forefinger to his lips to silence his associate. He stepped forward and pushed the large metal door of the converted room they were in. The door opened. The walls were rough stone and gave the impression all of these chambers had at one time been dungeons.

  Both men walked out into the long corridor and Freddie walked toward the door leading to the stone staircase. Where it had been open when they’d come down, the door was firmly closed and locked from the outside.

  “Either one of us, or both of us have got problems ahead,” Freddie whispered.

  “I don’t get it,” Renton said. “What do you mean?”

  “You honestly don’t get it, do you? We’re not down here by accident. We’ve been locked in.”

  “Maybe they don’t want us wandering around—”

  Freddie shook his head. “Somebody doesn’t want us fucking leaving.” The ex-soldier strode to the second, third, fourth and fifth converted rooms and glanced in through the small barred windows on the doors. Each chamber was fitted with bunks, a table, chairs, and light, all like the room in which they’d been left to wait.

  “What are you looking for?” Renton said.

  “I want to see the set-up.” Freddie approached the final two chambers and peered inside. “Cells.”

  “What the fuck do you mean—cells?” Renton approached. He pressed his face to the small barred window on the door of one of the last chambers. “Oh, fuck ....”

  Freddie whispered, “We might have to stick together, and fight our way out, mate.”

  “Wwhh …enn?” Renton’s voice shook with the single word.

  “If somebody comes down here and invites us upstairs for a chat, it won’t be for coffee and fucking cakes.” Freddie didn’t answer the question directly, but his reply caused the other, younger man to look around wide-eyed.

  “I’ve seen what Tug does to people,” Renton gasped. “He’s fucking heartless. I heard he got his nickname because he could extract information out of anybody.”

  Freddie nodded but remained silent. He’d waited for hours many times before, expecting to die, in the Middle East, Afg
hanistan, and a few other godforsaken places. On those occasions, it had been for his country, and he’d stood a chance—he had been armed.

  .

  Thursday 21st October

  BTL Enterprises

  Glasgow

  “Good morning, Rachel,” Jake said. “Go ahead. I’ve got Ian and Eva with me, and I’ve told them about you finding the phone. You’re on speaker.”

  “Hello guys.” Rachel’s voice echoed around the conference room. “I conducted a recce of the forest last night, all the way to the banks of the loch. There are only a couple of main tracks in this area, and at some point, it was designated out of bounds. The castle ruin is the remains of Fort Etive. I watched from a high point on the far side of the woodland, and somebody on the roof of the castle lit up a cigarette.”

  “Could the person on the roof have been a bird-watcher?” Ian said.

  “Not unless the bird-watchers around here usually carry high-powered rifles over their shoulder.”

  “Did you see anybody apart from the guy on the roof?” Eva said.

  “No,” Rachel said. “I didn’t see any vehicles either, and I made a thorough search of the tracks and found nothing.”

  “Is the fort on an island, or is it connected to the mainland?” Jake said.

  “Last night I saw the moonlight reflecting on the ripples between the building and the mainland, but a short while ago the water level eased off, and there is a narrow strip of land. For most of the time, the place is effectively an island.”

  “How would they get access by vehicle apart from the occasional crossing?”

  “There’s no sign of a boat on any of the three sides I could see,” Rachel said. “I’ll observe this morning and see if there is any activity. The window spaces are small, but light discipline is inefficient because in the middle of the night I saw a faint light on what must be two different floors.”

  “I want you to get some rest,” Jake said. “Have you got anything else for us?”

  “I reckon we need Mike involved. Give him the coordinates of the fort, and let me know what he thinks. If we have to plan on hitting this place at some point, I’d be more comfortable with firepower from another source away from the mainland.”

  “Thanks,” Jake said. “Take care, and get some bloody sleep.”

  “What time is the meeting with Max?”

  “I suggested 14:00 at the big coffee shop not far from Milton, on the A82.”

  “I’ll get in a couple of hours rest, and see you there, bye, lover.” She hung up.

  Ian and Eva laughed at the expression on Jake’s face.

  “I could brief, Mike,” Ian said.

  “Okay, thanks, mate,” Jake said. “If you want to tag along Eva, I’ll stay here and listen up for anything else coming in.”

  “I will,” Eva said. “Would you like us to contact Sinbad to put him on standby?”

  “No, I reckon Mike will deal with his side of things thoroughly, and he might want to give Sinbad a heads-up on weapons, equipment, or where they’re meeting.”

  Ian and Eva left, carrying a few notes and a detailed map of the Argyll and Bute area.

  Jake poured himself a coffee and stood in front of the large map of Scotland. He studied the roadways from Glasgow to Loch Etive. He checked the waterways, but was confident Mike would have a route in hand rapidly.

  Jake stood in front of the panoramic window which overlooked the River Clyde and the south side of the city and beyond.

  Jake had studied the team’s battle-board, trying to make sense of the variety of actions being taken by the underworld. McGinley and Simpson together would not be a good combination. McGinley and Henderson were also a bad pairing. Simpson and Henderson seemed highly unlikely, apart from the issue of how they could ever have met.

  “What are we bloody fighting here?”

  Jake’s phone buzzed, and danced around on the large conference table. He turned, checked the caller ID, and hit the remote button. “Go ahead, Amy. I’m alone right now, but I’ve put you on speaker.”

  “Hi, Jake. We’ve had to release Findlay. Being a bloody politician, he had a lawyer who shielded him from answering any questions. They pissed us around for a couple of hours yesterday.”

  “Did you get anything useful out of him?”

  “As unusual as it sounds, Findlay came into Pitt Street this morning. He asked for Eddie or me, and I was available. Findlay said he didn’t want to give his information to a police officer, but he’d confide in somebody else.”

  “Like who?” Jake said.

  “Findlay told me he knew something about the biker murders, but he’d feel happier talking to the city’s vigilante or an associate if he had one.”

  “Doesn’t that sound peculiar to you?”

  “It does, but there are some in politics who believe in what your team is doing. This is all we’ve got to go on, and there is definitely something worrying Findlay. The man’s nerves are totally shot. I’ll leave it to you if you want to chase this up.”

  “Give me his number,” Jake said. “I’ll discuss it with the team. I don’t like the feeling I’m getting, but we owe it to Max and the riders.”

  Amy gave Jake the politician’s mobile number and paused. “How is your operation going?”

  “You’ll remember we told you about our probationer, Freddie, having gone missing?”

  “Yes—you said he’d infiltrated the McGinley gang.”

  “We got an emergency code from his mobile yesterday. Rachel went out to locate it last night, and we’re now trying to establish where Freddie is, and who’s got him.”

  “Are you sure he’s being held?”

  “We’re confident, but I’ll keep you up to date.”

  “Thanks, Jake. Bye.”

  “Bye.” Jake ended the call and turned to study the map of Scotland and the area of Argyll and Bute. As he’d discussed with Rachel, the ruined fort on the loch-side would make an excellent location for an underworld HQ. It was far from the city, but not too far.

  When Ian and Eva arrived back from visiting Mike, Jake brought them up to speed on the possibility of gaining information from Findlay. In Rachel’s absence, the three of them discussed what to do next. Ian and Eva made it clear they were prepared to meet Findlay, but Jake insisted it was the operatives who set up the meeting place and time.

  .

  Fort Etive

  The door to the staircase opened, slowly, silently from the outside. The shine on the catches had to be oil or grease, to prevent anybody down below hearing the door open or close, or the locking bars being moved.

  “It’s morning, and it’s time.” Tug’s voice echoed off the thick stone walls of the corridor.

  “Time for what?” Renton was sitting up from the uncomfortable position he’d assumed when tiredness took over. Hunger and thirst played a part in his irritation. He rubbed his eyes.

  “Time to go upstairs.” Tug grinned.

  “What if I don’t want to stay here any longer?”

  “You haven’t got a choice.” Tug raised both eyebrows.

  “Fuck you!” Renton shouted and ran forward, filled with bravado, and remembering what Freddie had hinted.

  Tug brought his right hand from behind his back, producing his automatic. He fired a single shot at Renton’s left thigh.

  Renton screamed as he went down, clutching his wounded leg.

  Freddie was tired and hungry too, but he didn’t move from the doorway. A shadow appeared on the stone steps. No doubt Zak or Simpson stood a few steps up with a gun.

  Simpson came down the steps.

  Renton cried openly as Tug and Simpson dragged him up the stairs. The trio arrived on the car park floor, and a trail of blood betrayed their path as they continued to the other steps and up to the conference room floor.

  “I’m sorry,” Renton gasped when he focused on McGinley standing in a doorway, her arms folded and an impassive expression on her face.

  McGinley said, “If you’ve been le
ss than honest with me, Renton, you don’t know how sorry you’re going to be.” She stepped forward into the short corridor and nodded to a door on the right. “In there with him.”

  Tug and Simpson dragged the sobbing wannabe gangster into a small room which had at some stage been fitted out as a staff canteen or rest area. A counter complete with electrical sockets took up one wall. Above were high-level cupboards. Under the counter were cabinets, a new refrigerator, and a new freezer. At one end were a sink unit and draining board.

  The opposite wall and the back wall were bare, wooden panelling. In the centre of the floor two hard-backed chairs faced each other a few feet apart. One could be moved freely. The other chair had been bolted to the floor with metal brackets, and it had no cushioned seat—only a set of metal springs.

  A pair of rudimentary wooden armrests had been fitted to the anchored chair, and on both armrests and the base of the front legs were leather straps, complete with buckles.

  “I’m sorry,” Renton gushed as his wrists and ankles were secured. “I’ll tell you anything. Ask me. I’ll tell you anything. Please—”

  His pleading was cut short by a hard backhander delivered from Simpson. “We know you’re gonna tell us anything you soft shit.”

  Renton snivelled, but his head was turned to the right after the whack from the big man. It was at this point the prisoner focused on the long counter. A tool roll had been laid out and resembled the type seen in a hospital operating theatre. The last time he’d seen the same tool roll was in the warehouse where Tug questioned people.

  McGinley walked across to the counter and lifted a pair of pliers. She turned and stepped forward to the chair before tapping Renton under the chin with the pliers.

  “Tug is going to ask you some questions, and you’re going to tell him the answers.” McGinley smiled as she cocked her head to one side. “If he thinks you’re lying, he’ll pull out a fingernail, or a toenail.”