ACV's 1 Operation Black Gold (41 page)

I couldn’t stop myself grinning.  ‘Well wasn’t that silly of them.’  Reginald got heaved again and the door locked.  After an hour of fruitless searching even under Andrews’s skilled direction, I scanned in the autopsy photos then wrote a short search program around them and sent it into their system. 

It was the early afternoon before we found anything.

‘Pay dirt Andrew.’

‘Indisputably James.’  We read their mission brief.

I grunted, ‘so that’s how they knew.’

‘At least it saves me a lot of footwork, dashed unlucky.’

An operative had been sitting on a bus watching the world going by when one of our vehicles had pulled up alongside, stopped at traffic lights; he had been able to look right into the vehicle, noticing the difference immediately.  He’d got off the bus and into a taxi and followed us home; the rest as they say is history.

We began to explore the site.  I could feel my spirits shrink as we slowly began to realise the depths of their infiltration into our society.  ‘This stuff’s frightening.’

‘It is and you shouldn’t really be seeing it.’

‘What’s the matter don’t you trust me?’  I huffed.

‘I won’t even dignify that with an answer James.’

‘So you’ve now got the names of all their operatives in Scotland, what do you want to do now?’

‘Can we copy any of this?’

‘Not onto disc, there’s a chance it might register, but we can print it out on our printer.’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Aye, it’s a new development straight from Microtel.  I’m giving it a trial run, it doesn’t actually print anything it photocopies the screen.’

‘I’m sorry.’

‘There’s a small TV or VDU screen if you prefer inside the printer.  It project’s what you can see on your screen onto a screen inside and photocopies it.  There’s a conventional printer attached too, but we can’t use that.’

‘Are you sure it won’t register?’  He was dubious.

‘Positive.’

He gave me one of those, what have you been up to, looks.  I just grinned at him. 

Samantha tapped at the door and asked if we needed anything, so I sent her away to get a load of printing paper, by the time they got back we’d almost exhausted what we had.

When we finished with that site, we moved on, digging up anything, we could find on their operations in Scotland.

‘Your talent’s are being wasted my boy.’

‘So you keep telling me Andrew.’

Eventually I called a halt at half six.  ‘What’s the matter?’

‘I’ve got plans for tonight and were almost out of paper anyway.  It’s also going to take you the rest of the night to try and sort this lot out.’

Andrew looked round the small office and for once looked old and frail; we were literally knee high in paper.

‘Yes I suppose your right.  What is it you’re doing tonight?’

‘I’ve got a date with Sylvia.  As the moneyman, she’s been given permission to give me a private viewing of some of their new finds.’

‘At the museum?’

‘No in the luxury of her own home.’

He gave me a funny look, ‘oh, I see.  Do you think that’s a good idea?’

‘I think it’s a brilliant one.’

‘Ah.’

‘Don’t bother starting.  I have never been one to build my life around a fantasy or a dream.  Neither have I ever had the inclination to wait until a woman thinks she’s ready to have a relationship.’

‘I still think you may be making a mistake.’  He offered.

‘Without trying to be offensive Andrew, I don’t really give a shit what you or anybody else thinks.  Besides the itch is strong.’

‘Do I detect a chink in that Armour of yours?’

‘Dream on, If I have to go without, I will.  If I don’t I won’t.’

‘What if she doesn’t, well, want to?’

‘Fine, I’ll still get to see the artefacts and talk archaeology and that my old friend is the reason I’m going in the first place.’

Andrew stopped for a moment and listened to the Frontera pull away.  He wished he’d stayed for more than one reason.  There was a mass of documentation to file and categorise, even before it was moved.  Apart from that, he was beginning to feel his age.  He rubbed his eyes as a bout of tiredness washed over him, and his stomach growled angrily.

Buff walked in.  ‘Jim said you needed a hand.’

‘Thank you Buff, but that won’t be necessary.’

‘Well that’s just tough; you’re getting one anyway.’  Buff casually picked up a sheaf of papers and plonked himself into Jim’s chair.  ‘Secret shit eh.’  He started reading. ‘Jesus if any of this stuff gets out all hell will break loose.’

Andrew was watching him intently at a loss at what to do.  He realised if he tried to remove him he’d just be ignored.

‘Did Jim tell you what we were doing?’

‘Of course he did; d’ye think he doesn’t trust us like?’

Abie stuck his head in.  ‘The guards doubled, an they’re á shimfing like fuck.’

Andrew looked up, ‘are they?’

‘Aye, oh hey scandal, great.’  He picked up a pile and started reading.  Within minutes, the office was filled with bodies reading stacks of documents.  Andrew was heard to groan quietly.

Buff started issuing orders.  ‘There’s nae enough room in here, let’s get this stuff through the hoose.  Grab any empty folders, paper clips, and staples.  Somebody grab that puncher thing and find some string.’

Andrew soon found himself sitting in an empty room in despair.  He considered calling in Graham and some of his men but realised if he did he would break Jim’s trust and that was something far too valuable to lose.  He followed them through; but his perception of the situation changed dramatically when the chef walked in the door and found him self-looking down the barrel of the pistol.  ‘Do not come in here, stand in the doorway and keep your eyes fixed straight ahead.’

He didn’t seem perturbed by Grizz’s actions but obeyed them to the letter.  He was getting used to their eccentricities.

‘What would you like to eat?’  Buff asked him.

‘What, oh well I don’t know, a sandwich maybe.’

‘We didn’t bring the chef over here to make you a sandwich, I could do that myself.’

‘I see, well what has he got?’  The chef took his cue and rattled off a number of dishes.  Andrew settled for prawn cocktail followed by chicken Maryland.

‘Put it on a tray and leave it at the door.  Knock don’t come back here tonight,’ Grizz warned.

Buff grabbed Andrew’s attention again   ‘There’s a fresh bar of soap and a clean towel at the bottom of Jim’s bed; he’s also laid out a new shirt for you.  Why don’t you go and get freshened up before your meal then we’ll start sorting this lot out.’

‘You must be getting old taking orders from sergeants,’ he told himself in the mirror a short while later.  A cold bud washed the meal down well.

‘Right, how would you like to go about sorting this lot out?’  Buff asked when he was finished.

‘I’m not really sure yet.’

The words were barely out of his mouth before idea’s started flying at him, but what surprised him the most was their quality.  It was Grizz who suggested an at risk register, military and civil.  The idea was pounced upon, ripped to pieces and reformed into workable form.  Andrew’s tiredness dropped away as he was intellectually stimulated from all sides. 

He started guiding them; Gig’s planked himself down with his new dicto machine and a printer.  The lads would read out a quick summary of the file.  Andrew’s comments were recorded by Gigs then printed.  His comments or orders were then attached to the file then stacked according to their risk factor.  Davie Whitton arrived just before eleven and was promptly sent back out with a food order.  Andrew ordered a Kashmiri Korma, which he dutifully shared with the cat.

‘Now what do I do,’ Andrew asked when they were finally finished.  ‘There’s far too much to take with me and I can’t very well leave it with you, no offense intended gentlemen.’

‘None taken,’ replied Gigs shrugging.

‘Bide the night,’ suggested Buff.  ‘Take Jim’s bed.  That dirty fornicating bastard won’t be back until morning.’

‘About time to, he’s been getting a bit nippy lately,’ added Abie.

‘I realise it is rather late but they could be sitting chatting.’  The silence was contemptuous.

Buff shook his head sadly.  ‘Ye’ jist dinna ken thon cunt at a’ d’ye?’

‘No, but I do know Sylvia, she is a very respectable young lady.’  That brought forth a guff of laughter.  ‘But you don’t know her,’ he persisted.

‘Nah, but we ken Jim and he ken’s his women.  If he hadn’t the knickers off her in ten minutes flat then he’d have been back here hour’s ago.’

‘Nah Buff if she’s a fancy bit ó kit it might take him a bit longer.  Maybe even half an hour.’  Ali ventured.

‘Never,’ added another.

Andrew watched in disbelief as the others took up the call.  ‘Right, I’m sticking to 10-15 minutes, winner get in the chinkies tomorrow.  Buff produced a notebook and Davie Whitton called out his guess last with 3 hours.  ‘You’re just a fucking cheapskate Whitton,’ Buff accused.  ‘That just leaves the general manny, well.’

They were all looking at him expectantly.  ‘Oh no, I’m not getting involved in this gentlemen.’

‘Why not?’

‘It’s indecent.’

‘Bollocks, you’re a spook aren’t yé?’

‘Yes but that’s different.’

‘I thought you boys were always getting up to indecent things, come on take a stab.’

‘No, you see I just don’t think he will.’

‘Another fucking cheapskate eh, aright, I’ll put you down for that.’

‘But...’

Buff snapped the notebook closed and went to get himself a beer.

CHAPTER 41

I stopped and picked up some wine and flowers at a garage on the way to Sylvia’s, which turned out to be a rather plush top story flat in Morning side.  The damp urban air followed me up the cold stone stair well.  I rang the bell and the door opened almost immediately.  Sylvia was dressed in a small black number.  Jewellery make up the whole nine yards.  She stood for a moment staring.  Warning bells started to ring, I held out the wine and flowers.  ‘For you.’

The smile came at last.  ‘Oh thank you, I’m sorry come in.’ I followed her through to the kitchen admiring her lightly tanned naked legs on-route.  She raked through her cupboard eventually producing a water jug with a shrug of apology.

‘I’m afraid I’m not used to getting flowers.’

‘I find that very hard to believe.’  She liked that.  Her eyes began searching again.  ‘What is it, have I spilt something on my shirt?’

‘No, no it’s nothing.’  She started cutting the flowers and arranging them in her makeshift vase.  ‘Are you feeling all right, well you look a little pale.’

‘OK, out with it, what little birdie’s been telling stories?’

‘Nobody, well not really, Amanda said you hadn’t been keeping well.’

‘Um, I think I’m going to have a little word with our Mr. Whitton about his pillow talk.’

She laughed at that.  ‘There’s no need she was obviously exaggerating.’

‘Was she now, and just exactly what was she exaggerating about?’

She was standing at the sink with her back to me filling the jug.  Her body jerked in obvious embarrassment as she answered the question.  ‘Oh, she tried to tell me you’d been shot and killed a couple of men, what a load of rubbish she speaks honestly.  I mean I watched the news for days, I mean it would have been plastered all over the papers wouldn’t it.’

She turned sharply looking right into my eyes.  With her back turned to me, I hadn’t bothered to mask my anger.  She jolted to a halt the jug falling from her fingers.  It smashed spraying flowers, water and glass everywhere.

‘Oh no.’

She bent hastily to pick them up and I just managed to grab her wrist before she speared her hand on a piece of glass.  There was fear in her eyes as they met mine over the spoilt flowers but I had been able to straighten my face.  ‘Let me help, have you got a shovel?’

‘A small dust pan.’

‘That will do.’

‘Oh look my poor flowers.’  She seemed genuinely distressed.

‘Never mind, have you eaten today?’

‘I haven’t had the time yet.’

‘Good neither have I, what do you fancy, Indian, Chinese or European.  In or out?’

‘Are you sure?’

‘Aye, and while were out, I’ll get some proper flowers and no arguments, OK.’

I’d managed to get the smile back on her face.  ‘OK, in and Chinese.’

I helped her clean up the mess then followed her through to the living room; it was then I first noticed the object adorning the coffee table.  My blood ran cold and all thoughts of passion fled, she noticed the change in me immediately.

‘Don’t you like it?’

‘Very decorative.’  I turned my back on it and began to scan the pictures on the wall, which were far more to my taste.  The snub was not lost on her.

‘I, I borrowed it from a friend.’

‘Really; how nice.’  I never turned round and there was a rather pregnant silence.  My mind turned to the prints and I missed what she said next.  It was her hand on my shoulder that drew my attention back to her.

‘Jim.’

‘Um, these Roman and Greek prints are beautiful you know.’

‘Didn’t you hear what I said?’

‘No, sorry.’

‘About the bong.’

‘Oh.’  It was one of those big pagoda affairs with the man and woman at either end holding out their ivory stems.

‘You don’t seem very impressed.’

‘Should I be, look Sylvia, I know it’s legal and a lot of people prefer that to alcohol, but.’  I just shrugged and shook my head.

‘You don’t touch it do you?’

‘Canna stand it anywhere near me.’

‘I don’t believe it.’  I was about to tell her she’d better but I never got the chance.  ‘That bitch.’  She stomped off cursing.  ‘That dirty little bitch.’

‘What?’

Her face was flushed with anger.  ‘I was reliably informed by a so called friend that you liked a blow so I went out and borrowed this monstrosity.’  A picture of Samantha’s sweet innocent face informing Sylvia of my fondness of a good blow made me roar with laughter.  ‘What’s so funny, I’ve just made a complete and utter arse of myself.’

‘Well, the truth is, your friend didn’t lie.  You’ve just got the wrong kind of blow.’  The look on her face was novel.

‘Oh!’  It took a moment, but she started laughing too, and the tension lifted.

She grabbed a jacket and we headed out. 

We visited the indoor market first, where I replaced her jug and bought her a couple of vases.  Then I bought her a proper bouquet of flowers.  I carried the bags and she the flowers as we headed for the nearest takeaway.

‘You know, you really are a Neanderthal.’  It was a comment on my unwillingness to let her pay for anything.

‘Good, init?’

‘It feels funny, but yes, it is nice.’  She linked an arm into mine.  ‘My granny used to tell me about men like you.’

‘Did she now, I hope you didn’t listen to her, she was probably right.’

‘Well I’m slowly beginning to believe her.’

‘Was she one of those bra burning types who marched up and down screaming anti-chauvinist slogans?’

‘Lord no, she loved having a fuss made over her.  That was the last successful marriage in our family.’

‘So your mother was a modern woman was she?’

‘Yes and all three of my aunties, how did you know that?’

‘Common sense.’

‘How, you make it sound like its women’s fault the divorce rate is so high.’

‘It is.’

‘Really?’

‘Yep.’

‘Would you like to try and explain that?’

‘If you want, man is brought up by woman, she clothes him, feeds him, protects him, picks him up if he falls and kisses away the tears if he cries, yes?’

‘Yes, OK I’ll give you that.’

I nodded.  ‘Good, because that’s how it continues until he reaches adulthood and leaves the nest, and even then he still has a friend to turn to, someone no matter what he does who will still love him and care for him if he needs it.’

‘So!’

‘So when we go off into adulthood we take with us preconceptions about women, not all women obviously, but certainly those we look upon as mother and those we consider for wife.’

‘If men have preconceptions about women that isn’t our fault, it’s their own.’

‘You’re still not seeing this are you?’

‘To be quite frank, no I’m not.’

‘Alright nature intended men and women for entirely different roles in life and before you start, I’m not talking about intellect or the ability to do the same jobs, I’m referring to their roles in conception and specifically the first five years of a child’s life.’

‘You’re going to tell me a woman should tie herself to the kitchen sink for the first five years of her child’s life aren’t you?’

‘Yes.’

‘God, you are a Neanderthal.’

The look of disgust on her face angered me but I refused to let it show.  ‘Am I really, well let me tell you how it works?’

She folded her arms.  ‘If you must.’

That stopped me.  ‘OK forget it.’

‘No wait,’ she stopped me turning away.  ‘I’d like to hear the rest of it.’

‘OK, when a man gets married everything he’s been brought up to believe in is shattered against the cold rock of reality.  He finds himself with a woman who can’t or won’t cook.  If he needs something cleaned, clothes or house he has to do it himself and why, because his wife’s a modern woman and won’t be seen dead doing housework.  The pressure begins to build but he adapts and copes, then the children begin to arrive, and he think’s, yes, she’s a mother now she’s going to have to pull her finger out.  And she might, for a little while, even try, but then her friends will come round and tease her about her domestication, so she bucks it.  She becomes snappy, unresponsive and demanding.  The pressure mounts, his friends tease him about it, his mother nags him about his bad choice, she starts flashing her eyes at his friends and putting him down in public, he finds himself alone.

She wants him to be a modern man and shows his feelings, but if he does, she slag’s him off to her friends and calls him a ponce.  So now, all his preconceptions are shattered.  He can’t take it anymore, so he leaves, gets divorced or like so many do these days he takes a short walk off a tall bridge with a piece of rope for company.’  I paused to catch my breath for a moment, the expression on her face changing as she tried to absorb what I’d said.

‘Then what happens?’

‘Well then the cycle starts again, she finds herself on her own, she’s got to learn how to cook, to clean, to take that final step from modern woman to mother and that’s how she brings up her son.  Pouring all the love she can into him.  Maybe to make up for her earlier mistakes who knows, but then he grows up and gets married and the whole fucking thing starts up all over again.’

‘But, well, I mean you can’t blame women for all that?’

‘No, you’re right.  The way the media and soaps portray women’s roles in this modern world of ours doesn’t help any, add that to the fact that women have been trying to reinvent themselves for the last sixty or seventy years and that doesn’t help any either.  I suppose that somewhere along the line their domestic lives have to suffer too, which leaves the men of the world running around like headless chickens in full panic, trying to plug the holes they’ve left behind.’

That thought brought a bit of a smile back to her face.  ‘Yes but, well, domestic women, just, aren’t, well sexy.’

‘Aren’t they?’

‘No.’

‘Maybe not to a seventeen or eighteen year old who’s only out for a bit of fun, but to a mature man who’s looking to settle down and have a family there’s no woman more desirable.’

She laughed.  ‘You are kidding aren’t you?’

‘Am I, it’s obvious you’re not a man Sylvia, in your world the title ‘A domesticated woman,’ might be a very dirty one, but in mine a woman of that nature is a very rare and highly sought after person.’

‘You’re not kidding are you?’

‘No, I’m not.’

‘Your weird, do you know that?’

‘So I’ve been told.’

She thought I was hilarious.