Meltdown (8 page)

The atmosphere in the office at the coach yard was
thick with tension. Will had never before even considered
challenging his brother's unspoken
leadership and authority. But seeing Teddy's
bruised and battered face, and the way he kept
flinching as he got another jolt from his cracked
ribs, somehow made him seem vulnerable and a
little pathetic.

And Will was determined to take advantage of
his brother's sudden vulnerability.

'Why should we bring in Watts? He's done his
job; he's got rid of the threat. We can pay him off
and let him go.'

Teddy was on the defensive, but he'd made up his
mind on what he wanted, telling his brother he'd
decided to bring Fergus in on 'all aspects of the
business' so that he could oversee their complete
security and protection.

'We don't know that what happened last night
was anything to do with the attacks here,' he said.
'They might be totally unconnected.'

'So there are more people out there who know
about Meltdown? Is that what you're saying? So
who's telling them?'

'I don't
know!'
Teddy flinched as a stab of pain
shot through his ribs. 'Maybe a dealer has got
word on us; maybe it's one of our own. I don't
know, Will. All I do know is that I want to bring
Watts in. We don't need to tell him everything,
just enough. And we'll test him out before we say
anything.'

'It's a crazy idea, a total non-starter. We've got our
own team,' insisted Will. 'They've always looked
after us well enough. What happened in the apartment
was a one-off; we're safe now.'

'Our team?' said Teddy. 'Albie? And the rest of
them? They were OK when we got going but you
know Albie's become a liability.' He paused. The
medical staff at the A&E department had patched
up Teddy's physical wounds, but the image of
Siddie Richards with a bullet hole in his face would
not fade from his mind. 'Look,' he said, failing to
conceal his impatience. 'We're going to need someone
like Fergus.'

Will's face was flushed with anger. 'And how do
you know you can trust him?'

'Because he killed someone for me last night! He
committed murder to keep me alive! Isn't that
enough?' Teddy shifted in his chair to ease the pain
from his ribs. 'Watts will do whatever we ask of him
as long as the money's right. He said as much last
night. That's all he's interested in.'

Will was still glaring at him, obviously intent on
saying a lot more.

Teddy levered himself to his feet and crossed the
room to where his brother was standing.

'Will, you weren't there! I nearly died!'

Danny drove into the yard and parked up. As he got
out of the silver Mazda, he saw Storm standing by
the stairs to the office. She was frowning but still
looked stunning in a designer suit and high-heeled
boots.

'If you've come to look at the computers again,
you'll have to wait.' She smiled and then glanced
up towards the office. 'They're arguing. I don't
know exactly what the problem is, but Teddy's in a
terrible state – he's in such pain, and his face looks
terrible. Whatever happened to him must have been
awful.'

Danny closed the car door as he considered his
answer. 'He's just not used to trouble. It's probably
not as bad as it looks.'

'But what happened? They said you were there.'

Danny wasn't giving away a thing. 'What did
they tell you?'

Storm shrugged. 'There was this guy – some sort
of gangster – who was trying to take over the travel
business. He beat up Teddy but then your granddad
came in and scared him off.'

That's about it,' said Danny. 'He won't be back,
anyway.'

'Then why is Teddy still so scared?'

'I don't know, Storm. You'd better ask him.'

He could see that Storm was puzzled by his
evasion. She stared into his eyes, and frowned,
searching for the truth.

He returned the look, realizing as he did so that
he was quickly becoming as accomplished as his
grandfather at telling lies. It went with the territory.

Storm's searching look suddenly turned into one
of her most dazzling smiles and her brow cleared.
'Would you like a cappuccino? The twins want me
out of the way for a while and if d be nice to have
some company. There's a place down the road that's
good. We can walk.'

Danny smiled. 'Yeah, why not.'

As they walked towards the gates, they heard a
shout from the workshops.

'Storm!'

They looked back and saw Albie standing in the
open doorway.

'Oh, what does he want now?' whispered Storm
as he came striding over. She moved closer to
Danny, almost as though she was silently looking
for his protection.

When he reached them, Albie glared briefly at
Danny and then focused on Storm, forcing a smile.
'You all right?'

'Fine, thanks, Albie. You?' Storm's voice quavered
a little.

Albie nodded but said nothing more. He just kept
smiling at her. The silence went on and on, but Albie
had obviously run out of conversation. He just
stared at Storm with barely disguised adoration.

Storm glanced at Danny and then turned to head
towards the gates again. 'Bye then, Albie.'

'Where you going?'

'We're, er . . . we're going for a quick coffee.'

'I'll come. I'm not doing anything.'

Danny could almost see Storm searching for a
plausible excuse to get rid of Albie. But when it came,
it sounded pretty lame and a very obvious putdown.
'We . . . we have to talk about business, Albie.'

'What about later then?' insisted Albie. 'Late.
When I finish work. A drink? Or a club maybe?'

Storm smiled. 'Another time, eh?'

Albie watched them until they had passed through
the gates, his eyes burning into Danny's back. Then
he walked slowly back towards the workshop.

Inside, two of the guys who doubled as security
and general workers around the yard were leaning
against one of the newly cleaned coaches.

They instantly recognized the look on Albie's
face. They'd seen it before and they knew better
than to say anything as he passed them. They
watched him head across to a greasy metal work-bench
and pick up a large monkey wrench.

He held it in his right hand and hit it against the
open palm of his left hand a couple of times. Then
his eyes flashed and he raised the monkey wrench
above his head and smashed it down on the
workbench. The bench crashed to the ground,
the legs collapsing under the vicious blow as nuts
and bolts and tools went flying like shrapnel in
every direction.

Albie dropped the monkey wrench on the
concrete, then turned and glared at the two guys,
his eyes daring them to make a comment.

The argument in the office was still raging and Will
was giving as good as he got. But there was more
than twenty years of history between them to
overcome.

Teddy was the older brother by a full twelve
minutes. He'd always made the major decisions and
Will had gone along with them. It worked that way.
It was easier. But not this time.

'I don't like it, Teddy. We've only known the guy
a couple of weeks and you want to tell him
everything.'

'But I don't. Just enough. Look, Will, we've got to
face it – if Siddie Richards managed to find out
about us, then there's a bloody good chance one of
the other gangs might show up before too long. If
that happens, I want Watts around.'

'But we've been so careful with security. We've
done everything we've been told.'

'Maybe we let something slip. Or someone did.
Maybe we're coming to the end of it, Will. We've
had a great run. Maybe we need to start thinking
about winding it up and moving on.'

'That won't be popular. You know the instructions.'

Teddy sat up in his chair. 'It's
our
business. We can
do what we want.' He looked closely at his brother.
'Now, are you with me on this, Will? Just trust me,
like you always have done.'

Will hesitated for a moment but then sighed
and nodded. 'But I don't like it, Teddy. I really don't
like it.'

Teddy smiled. 'We'll talk to Watts together. Then
we'll decide on whether or not he joins us on the
Barcelona trip.'

'You mean, you'll decide.'

'We'll
decide, Will.' Teddy opened a drawer in the
desk and took out a pay-as-you-go mobile phone.
'And now we'd better start organizing tonight's
production meet.'

Doug was the no-questions-asked variety of truck
driver, wheels and wagon for hire. He was bowling
along the M60, sticking to the speed limit and
driving carefully, as country rock blared from the
cab's speakers. The traffic was unusually light and
Doug was smiling, thinking of the wad of cash he'd
pocket for this job.

It was all going like clockwork, as it always did.
He'd picked up packages from three different
supply depots, then stopped as instructed at the
Birch service station on the M62 to collect his
passenger.

He was there in the trailer park, sitting reading
Motor Cycle News
on a worn patch of grass by the
bins, wearing scruffy jeans, a baggy puffa jacket and
a striped scarf, iPod ear-buds in place, a rucksack at
his feet. As Doug pulled in, he stood up, folded his
paper and pulled on a pair of thin gloves.

The articulated truck's hydraulic brakes hissed as
Doug drew the vehicle to a standstill and then
jumped from the cab to open the rear doors. Within
a couple of minutes the skinny young guy was in
the back of the truck and Doug was pulling back out
onto the motorway, heading for the M60. Where
possible, he would stick to motorways to keep the
ride smooth. Today it was easy. It was going to be
the M60 almost all the way.

Doug had no idea that the young guy he'd just
picked up was a highly qualified chemist who was
supplementing his meagre research assistant's pay
carrying out the first half of the Meltdown process
in the mobile laboratory in the back of the truck. But
he only had the first part of the formula.

The whole operation was based on the way the
wartime French Resistance movement operated;
the way terrorist organizations still operate today.
No one but the twins knew the whole story.
Everyone else, from the chemists, through to
drivers, loaders and security guys, only knew just
what they needed to know when they needed to
know it. It was brilliant. By keeping the process in
two parts and mainly mobile, even if someone did
blab about the location of the meet, by the time the
police or security forces arrived, the DMP would be
long gone.

Eventually, Doug arrived back at the Birch services,
dropped his passenger off, sent a coded text
message and received a postcode and a hangar
number in return. For the second time that day he
pulled out onto the motorway and headed for the
M60.

The production meet was at a decommissioned airfield
about an hour north of Manchester. During the
Second World War it had been the base for an RAF
bomber squadron, but its glory days were long gone.

All that remained of the runways was cracked
and broken stretches of concrete, with grass and
weeds growing from wide, ugly fissures. The old
hangars had been supplemented by newer factory
units, creating a ramshackle industrial estate. It
wasn't pretty and it wasn't purpose-built, but it was
perfectly functional.

The twins had taken a short lease on one of the
hangars. The location was good. Ten or more other
organizations used the neighbouring units. A
vehicle-hire company garaged and maintained its
fleet of vans in one; an electrical supplies company
used another for storage. Even the police had a
presence on the site: the unit next door but one was
used by the force as a dog-training centre.

Businesses came and went on a regular basis;
there was frequent traffic in and out of the site and
no one asked questions. It was that kind of place.

Doug backed his artic into the hangar, watching
carefully in his wing mirrors for the signals from the
pale and puffy-faced young guy with dark shadows
under his eyes who always seemed to be in charge
at the meet. There was a shout and his hand came
up to signal a stop.

Doug applied the parking brake and switched off.
He knew he had backed up to the open tail of
another artic. He knew from the sounds that the
back of his trailer was being opened and people
were getting in. To one side, he could see two sleek
black luxury coaches parked up, but he'd decided
long ago that if this was dodgy stuff, he didn't want
to know about it. Just as long as he got paid, he was
happy to sit in his cab, read his paper and listen to
his music until he was told to go.
Hear no evil, see no
evil
was his philosophy.

Teddy had watched the coaches pull out of the yard
on their way to the meet, before he asked Fergus if
he'd heard of Meltdown. Fergus shook his head.

'It's a drug, a chemical drug. A bit like Ecstasy, but
much better.'

'Yeah, I reckoned this was about drugs.'

'Do you have a problem with drugs?'

Fergus smiled. 'I've had a lot of problems with
drugs over the years. Specially in Colombia.'

'I mean morally. Do you have a moral objection to
drugs?'

Fergus had mentally prepared for this conversation,
knowing which way it was likely to go.
'Morality is something you leave behind when you
do my sort of work. You just get on with the job. If
you stopped to think about what's right and what's
wrong, you'd never do it.'

Will couldn't stop himself from interrupting. 'But
you were in Colombia trying to bust the drugs
cartels – we've read the stories.'

'I was a soldier. I did what I was told.'

'But then a better offer came along?'

'That's right. I spent half a lifetime doing the
heroic Queen and country stuff. And for what? Pisspoor
pay and a medal to shove in the back of a
cupboard and forget about. FARC offered me a lot
of money and I grabbed it. And when I got caught,
I didn't have anyone to blame but myself.'

'So money is what motivates you now?' said Will.

'Totally' Fergus smiled. 'For some reason they
took away my army pension.'

Will wasn't smiling. He was the one who still
needed convincing; he hadn't been through the
Siddie Richards experience. 'And this last job,
the suicide bombings. Why you? Why did they pick
you when they knew you were a traitor?'

This was the test. Fergus knew his answer had to
be believable, and like all the best lies it had to be
based on truth. 'MI5 had tracked me down – me
and Danny and his friend Elena. The guy behind
the bombings was targeting teenagers, grooming
them on the Internet, and Elena was brilliant with
computers and the Internet, even better than Danny.
My speciality is explosives, so they gave us a choice,
work for them or' – he lifted his right hand, made a
pistol shape and held it against his temple –
'goodnight.'

Will still wasn't smiling. 'But why not just use
their own people?'

Fergus was calculating his physical responses as
carefully as his words, and now was the moment to
act as though he was getting bored and irritated
with the questioning. 'You think the security
services only work with the good guys? That's
bollocks. They'll work with whoever can get results.
And the best thing for them, with us, was that if it
all went wrong, they could deny any knowledge of
our involvement.'

'And this . . . Elena – what happened to her?'

'She's dead. There was a complete fuck-up and
she got shot.' Fergus looked at Teddy. 'Just like your
friend from last night.' He turned back to Will. 'But
they didn't tell you that bit in the papers. And you'll
understand why neither Danny nor I have any
particular love for the security services or the
British government.'

Fergus pushed away his chair and stood up. It
was time for the big gamble, the walkout. If it went
wrong, there would be no coming back. 'Look, I
don't need this. You boys just go play with your
Meltdown, or whatever it is you call the stuff.'

He headed for the door of the office, opened it
and took a step outside, thinking that maybe he had
blown it, when he heard Teddy's voice.

'Mr Watts!'

Fergus stopped and turned back. He stood in the
doorway and watched as the brothers exchanged a
nod before Teddy spoke.

'We make Meltdown and sell the tablets here and
in Europe. We're prepared to show you how we
export the tablets but not how or where they are
manufactured. Only
we
know the complete formula
– no one else has access to that information – and
we would like you to be responsible for our
personal security in the immediate future; I don't
want to risk another Siddie Richards situation.
You'll be paid very very well. Does that appeal?'

Both twins watched Fergus closely as he considered
his reply. 'Yeah, the money appeals, but I
have to consider our security – mine and Danny's.
The places where you make this stuff – are they
safe? You get busted and it wouldn't be good to be
around.'

Teddy glanced at Will, who nodded his agreement
for big brother to continue. 'It's been working
perfectly for months and it's quite safe. That's all
you need to know.'

Fergus nodded slowly; he wasn't going to push it
– he'd made the breakthrough. 'I'll look after you,
and your happy pills. As long as the price is right.'

'Oh, it will be,' said Teddy, looking hugely
relieved. 'And we'd like you to join us on our next
trip. To Barcelona.'

Fergus nodded again. 'When's that?'

'Tomorrow.'