THE FIX: SAS hero turns Manchester hitman (A Rick Fuller Thriller Book 1) (38 page)

For all the coppers and security, they let a full IRA Active Service Unit in there back in the day, but I suppose you know what happened then.

Once you rode that gauntlet, you drove across the airport runway before crawling into town. Pretty it wasn’t, it’s more like Clapham than the Costas, but I wasn’t there to see the sights or the apes.

The tail became more difficult as the dozens of mini-buses taking tourists up the Rock darted in and out of the traffic so I stayed well away.

Susan negotiated the narrow streets and headed toward the old army quarters. I dropped even further back. I knew exactly where she was headed. I’d seen the aerial picture of daddy’s house.

I parked the Jeep, stepped into the heat and leant on what remained of a concrete wall. Most or the barracks had been demolished and JCBs lay temporarily idle waiting for the Monday morning builders to recommence the new landscape. The Lotus had disappeared through electric gates five h8undred yards ahead, to a place Susan no doubt called home. To my annoyance, an equally impressive residence was near completion next door. Now if I’d been a betting man, I’d have a pound or two on the place being Champagne Charlie Williamson’s summer retreat. I’d also wager that Williamson and company had bought the prime ex-army land at a knockdown price.

I checked the time. It would be twelve hours before dark and the opportunity for Des and the crew to come ashore. I slipped down in the seat of the Lexus and waited. My time would come.

Lauren North's Story:

My nose had just about stopped bleeding and the pain in my ribs had become a dull ache with the large dose of codeine-based drugs Des had made me take. I’d managed some sleep but felt like a herd of buffalo had tap-danced on my body for a laugh. The good news was that the weapons the guys had collected from San Pedro had been carefully secured onto a floatation device that looked something like a cross between a surfboard and a kayak. Des had made sure that it was totally waterproof and stowed the lot into the boat.

This was no ordinary craft either. The boat was a very beautiful Doral Algeria power cruiser that Jimmy was preparing for sea.

It reminded me of the boats I’d seen at the beginning of
Miami Vice
; all white leather, chrome and muscle. It had everything you could imagine and more. Two fabulous bedrooms, one with en suite shower, hi-fi, DVD and HD plasma TV; a dining room for four guests and a captain; a cocktail bar, and all pushed through the waves as fast as you like by two powerful diesel engines. They burbled away as Jimmy entered coordinates into the state of the art navigation system and I checked what was left of my face in the bathroom mirror.

I took off my sunglasses and had a little moment.

If Jane could see me now; six strips of tape held together a cut beneath my left eye and I just knew my next dentist bill would be enormous. I had the beginnings of two fabulous black eyes and my nose? Well, Des had done his best with it.

The sun was just about to dip beneath the horizon and we were about to make way. I slipped out of the bathroom and was met in the cabin by our captain.

“Do you like to s…sail, Lauren?” asked Jimmy as he tapped away at the touch screen display.

I sat myself in a white swivel chair wide enough for two and figured the boat was made for the US market.

“I’ve only ever been on a ferry from Liverpool to Dublin, Jimmy. I don’t think that counts.”

Jimmy looked at me and I felt that shiver again. His dark eyes questioning my very existence. It was if he didn’t really believe anything I said to him, or I wasn’t part of his idea of an assault team. I noticed a nerve pulse under his left eye. Was he nervous? I’d never seen nerves in Des or Rick before.

I changed the subject. “What’s the name of the boat, Jimmy?”

It sounded all girly and I regretted opening my mouth instantly. I really hadn’t noticed a name as I’d gingerly clambered aboard but I knew the model because I’d flicked through the brochure that was right in front of me on the polished walnut drinks table. She, as I gathered they called all boats, was obviously brand new and very fucking expensive.

Des stepped in, broke my thoughts and answered my question.

“Irish Eyes,” he chirped with a smile that eased the mood. “Why’d you call her that, Jimmy?”

Jimmy shrugged. He still looked uncomfortable to me. Beads of sweat on his shaved head ran down his temple and neck and along the tattoo that snaked down his body. The evening air was cool. He wiped the sweat from his face before he spoke. 

“You know what Shakespeare said, Des, ‘What’s in a name?’”

“Aye, true.” Des looked at the navigation panel that was as big as my television back home in Leeds. “How long to the Gibraltar coastline then?”

Jimmy punched in the last of the information and stowed the map he’d been using. “Two hours and four minutes, Des. Spot…spot on like. Just like a plane, this baby, autopilot and everything.”

He motioned to the front of the forty-seven-foot craft. “That’s as soon as you let go the moorings.”

Des did a mock sailor’s salute and grinned at his old mate. “Aye aye, Captain Jim! Castin’ off now! ”

Des Cogan's Story:

We’d been at sea for about an hour. The night sky was a perfect blanket of stars as we left all ambient light on the coast. Jimmy had let the autopilot do all the work and rather than steering, had been telling old war stories to Lauren, keeping the mood light.

I hadn’t heard from Rick since he landed on plot and I was feeling a little uneasy. I checked my watch again. He was forty minutes shy of his proposed contact.

Jimmy broke off from his tales of Sudanese adventures, and looked at his own watch.

“Waiting for Rick to call, Des?”

I nodded, casual but worried. “Yeah, he’s late.”

It was a life-changing experience for me. In all my years as a soldier, I had never been betrayed by my own.

With the speed of a cheetah Jimmy pulled a Glock from under his shirt and pointed it at me.

I’d never felt so deserted. In an instant I knew. Someone I considered a friend, someone I had fought alongside, who had shared the things only people like us could possibly share, was about to turn into a traitor. For the first time, I really knew what Rick had gone through the last ten years.

I felt sick with anger.

Jimmy, of course, read my face.

“Don’t be so upset, Des. We all make mis…mistakes at our age. Were you really going to go up against Colonel Williamson with just two guys and a fuckin’ nurse?”

Lauren sat to his right. He trained the gun on her. She was obviously too close for even a mere nurse and he motioned to her to sit next to me. Tight together and easy to manage, I’d have done the same. She used her arms to lift herself from the bucket seat and winced in pain as she did so. Seconds later I felt her next to me. I couldn’t take my eyes from the man who was supposed to be my friend. Finally I glanced at Lauren. She looked pale in the moonlight, her swollen features exaggerated in the shadows. What was I thinking? I questioned my own judgement, bringing along an injured woman on such a dangerous job was just crazy.

Jimmy was feeling good though.

“You see this boat, Des?”

Jimmy spread his arms. Boastful, gloating.

“This boat is worth over seven hundred thousand dollars and is one of three I own. Own, Des! No fuckin’ mortgage or l…loan involved here. I own them. I have two s…sailing boats too. They would fetch a million dollars each today if I wanted to sell.”

He pulled himself together and aimed at me.

“Colonel Williamson gave me a chance, Des. He sent me to school to learn to talk good. He paid for that. Before, all I was good for was fighting. He gave me a chance. Look at all this!”

Lauren’s voice was flat calm. “A chance to sell drugs, Jimmy?”

Jimmy moved the Glock the few inches he needed to get a perfect headshot on her. He shook his head violently, the sweat poured from him.

“Mr. Williamson and Mr. Goldsmith are Europe’s only defence against drugs! They take care of the biggest dealers. They are the balance. They do what the police and MI5 can’t do.”

I couldn’t stay quiet.

“That’s what they told you, Jimmy? Did they tell you about the women and kids they killed at a graveside in Manchester? Innocents, Jimmy? I saw a kid, no more than six or seven with his fuckin’ legs blown off, Jimmy. Is that the kind of people you work for now?”

He changed his stance and I looked down the barrel again, his eyes tearful, trying to focused on me. His whole body shook. I’d never seen the man look so flustered.

“Casualties of war, Des, you should know about those. We’ve seen enough of them. It happens in all c…conflicts. It don’t matter, Des. I’m sorry, mate, but in twenty minutes we are meeting another boat. They’re taking you to the ‘Centre.’ Rick will be there by now. Mr. Williamson wants a chat with you all.”

He gave a nervous laugh and wiped his face again.

I was curious.

“The Centre?”

Jimmy nodded. Sweat dripped from his nose. “Yeah. The house where Rick was headed is just another piece of real estate the boss has ordered built. He bought the all the derelict MOD land available on Gibraltar a couple of years back, but he also bought an old secret military bunker in the Rock itself; used to be a military hospital. That’s the business end of the operation. It’s a fortress, Des, and it’s where you are both going.”

I heard the crack of two 9mm rounds and saw as they hit Jimmy square in the chest. He looked surprised until a third shot slapped his head back against the boat canopy.

Lauren flicked the safety back onto Stefan’s SIG. I’d forgotten she still had it and so, obviously, had Jimmy.

“I think we need the weapons out now, mate, don’t you?”

Rick Fuller's Story:

Cathy was digging the garden. The ground was still hard from the winter chill. She forced her spade into the frosted earth with her foot so it would give way and allow her to turn it, to fill it with oxygen and make it ready for the new glorious life of spring.

Two men walked casually through the garden gate.

One spoke.

“Good morning, Mrs Fuller. And where might your husband be at this moment?”

Without thought, she threw her spade in his direction, a tragic attempt at protection. She ran for the house, knowing who they were.

As she reached the door the first bullets found her. Her legs gave way. She couldn’t breathe. A huge weight had fallen upon her. It crushed her ribs whilst other searing pokers tore at her flesh second after second. From somewhere she found one last breath, her pale arm raised as she lay dying.

“Riiiiiiiiiick!”

“Rick?”

“Rick?”

I opened my eyes and saw Susan. She had a wide smile on her face and a Glock in mine.

She beckoned me from the Jeep. I was spread-eagled on the bonnet and searched by an unseen face. I had no weapons.

Susan opened the door of a newly washed and polished Land Cruiser and pushed me roughly inside. On my left was a real bruiser of a bloke and before the door was slammed closed I was joined by an equally steroid-induced dickhead in cheap sunglasses that sat in the personal space to my right. They didn’t even bother to cuff or tie me.

Confidence ruled.

A third, smaller but more sorted-looking guy drove. Susan turned in the front passenger seat to face me. She wore that same big smile that had nothing to do with her eyes.

“It’s so good to see you again, Rick. You look well. You would hardly notice the scar my brother left you.”

I didn’t know if she was looking for a rise in me but I wasn’t going to play her game. I stayed silent.

She played a big ace.

“Your friends will be joining you in a couple of hours, Rick. Won’t that be nice? Jimmy has seen to that for us.”

I must have shown some flicker of emotion. Jimmy? How could I have been so fuckin’ stupid? She grasped it with both hands as the Cruiser turned sharp left up toward the Rock.

“Awww! Poor Rick. Your army colleagues are a constant let down for you, aren’t they? First Daddy and Uncle Charlie, and now one of your very own Special Air Service boys.”

The guy on my right who was doing a fair impression of The Terminator himself twisted his considerable neck to look me in the eye.

“That’s coz them boys is all limp dicks, Miss Susan.”

He had a Deep South American drawl. Probably ex-Marine Corps. Small bubbles of white spittle formed on his narrow lips as he shot out his words just a little too quickly for his pea brain.

My old training took over. Inside I was blazing with anger but outwardly I had to let them see they had won. Let them think that I had given up, and then maybe, just maybe, they would relax enough and I would get a chance to escape. I lowered my head and looked at my knees.

The big daft fucker was loving it. He grabbed my hair and pulled my head upright to face forward.

“Look at Miss Susan when she talkin’ to you, boy.”

Susan knew the drill. Obviously she’d been to the same charm school as her brother Stephan. I could see her boiling the kettle herself.

“Cody here seems to like you, Rick. Maybe I’ll let him have half an hour alone with you before you have a little chat with Daddy and Charlie. They are simply aching to see you after all these years. What do you think, Rick? And I just know your little friend Lauren will be very popular with some of the boys in the Centre. Maybe you can watch them have some fun with her too?”

I still played the game.

“Look, you’ve got me, Susan. Why not let the others go? I’m the one you really want.”

She shook her head and I even noticed the driver allow himself a wry smile. I figured everyone in the car had been through the same training manual and I was wasting my breath.

“You know that isn’t going to happen, don’t you, Rick? Even you with all that hatred built up inside you should understand that this is business. Just that, nothing personal.”

She rested her hand on the back of the seat and I noticed a different engagement ring. She clocked me and held it up so that the rock sparkled in the ambient light.

“Nice, isn’t it, Rick? It cost over one hundred thousand Euros. He’s called Pablo. Italian. Very connected. All gel and designer stubble. Within the month we’ll be married and it will all start again, Rick. He is my next Joel Davies, my next tame millionaire drug dealer.

Within a year I will have set up the first shipment for him. Of course I will have a contact with the elusive Stern Empire. Daddy and Uncle Charlie will do me the very best rates and Pablo will be delighted. Then he’ll get greedy, as they all do. He’ll want bigger shipments at cheaper prices. After that, you know only too well what happens, don’t you, Rick? The shipment is stolen or lost, the odd player ends up floating in the river, the right information is leaked to the right ear, and we watch the Italians go to war over drugs that never existed.” She admired the stone once again and sighed heavily and theatrically before moving her had out of sight.

“Perfect,” she breathed.

The Land Cruiser was revving hard as we climbed ever higher up the Rock. I noticed we passed several old entrances to the infamous wartime tunnels carved into the cliff face by different armies. Obviously the ‘Centre’ was one of them.

Susan hadn’t finished. I always thought she liked the sound of her own voice.

“You know, Rick; I have to tell you this because it is so funny.”

She elongated the ‘so’ just like a sixth-form schoolgirl would when talking about last night’s date.

I didn’t think I’d ever get tired of shooting her.

She was buzzing. “All this started that day when you came round to Joel’s house to look at his car or something. You had a beer, remember? I knew you were his preferred collector but never really took any notice until that day. All big dealers have one guy they rely on for all the ‘wet’ stuff. You were too...” she struggled for her descriptive momentarily, “too mysterious. That was it, mysterious. There was something not quite right about you. So I took your empty beer bottle and checked your DNA out. It was easy with our resources. Well, Rick, when the results came back Uncle Charlie was simply insistent that you and your friends didn’t return from Holland. He thought you were dead, you see? He knew you’d be trouble one day. And he was right, wasn’t he, Rick? All the mess you’ve caused. Well, that’s all over now isn’t it?”

I recalled the time when Susan had been so quick to recover my bottle. Sitting on Joel’s patio, staring out at those bloody awful bushes. It answered lots of questions.

The car slowed, and by the fidgeting either side of me I gathered we’d arrived at the place Susan called the Centre.

The place was inconspicuous enough. A small parking area for six vehicles fronted a reinforced concrete arch with a solitary steel door carved straight into the Rock. It was all that announced the presence of a tunnel at all. There was no security lighting which was strange and I was marched in relative darkness to the opening. A single red light glowed dimly over the entry as Susan punched a code into the security lock. The door didn’t open immediately. There was a humming sound that I gathered was lift gear bringing a car from deep within the Rock. Then the door clicked open and we were bathed in fluorescent light.

Immediately inside the old medical unit was space enough for three stretchers and ambulance crews. Decorated in World War II green hospital tiling, it gave me the creeps. You could almost hear the sailors’ screams of agony reverberate off the austere ceramics. In its previous life this was the area the injured would in wait until what still looked like the original elevator car lumbered its way to the surface to take stretchers and casualties down into the depths of the Rock. It had those see-through concertina steel doors and was easily big enough to take everyone in the entrance and some. The doors looked new though and when I looked a second time so did the 1940s wall tiles.

I scanned the rest of the lobby. To the left a more modern green sign announced a fire escape and stairs.

The big Yank in the crappy shades pulled the lift door aside and grabbed me by the elbow. I was unceremoniously dumped inside and I faked a trip and fell on my arse in the corner to give him even more pleasure and confidence.

I knew I was in the shit, but I also knew I would be meeting Williamson and Goldsmith face to face.

When that time came, if they were confident that I was a ‘beaten’ man, they might be sloppy; they might make one small error that allowed me at them.

I was waiting for that. Ten years on.