The First Novels: Pay Off, the Fireman (23 page)

       
‘Where are you?’ he asked eventually.

       
‘Gatwick Airport. I’ve just arrived back from Malta.’

       
‘Wait there. I’ll be with you within the hour. And you’ve got some explaining to do.’

       
‘Don’t hang up, Tony. I haven’t finished yet. You have to do something for me.’

       
I told him the two things I wanted and God bless him he didn’t ask why, he just said yes, he could get them both and I was to wait where I was.

       
If he’d been my fairy godmother and granted me three wishes, and if I didn’t have to go through a metal detector before catching the plane to Edinburgh then I’d have asked for a semi-automatic handgun as well, something small enough to hide in a coat pocket but big enough to kill at a distance. But Tony wasn’t my fairy godmother and the only way to get up to Stonehaven in time was to fly, and anyway I couldn’t risk using a gun that could be traced back to him. If Sammy had told them what she knew then Tony was in enough trouble already.

       
He arrived before twelve-thirty in his blue Lagonda and helped me load my suitcase into the boot without saying a word. It was only after we’d fastened our seat belts and my shoes had settled into the pale blue sheepskin carpeting that he turned to me, raising his eyebrows without a trace of a smile and asked: ‘Well?’

       
‘Did you get what I asked for?’

       
He gestured with his thumb. ‘On the back seat.’

       
I turned and looked over my shoulder and saw a green and yellow Harrods carrier bag. ‘Thanks,’ I said. ‘Were they easy to get?’

       
‘I’m in the business, you know that. I had them both in stock. Where are we going?’ Still no smile.

       
‘I have to get to Edinburgh within the next few hours. The Heathrow to Edinburgh Shuttle is the best bet. Do you mind?’

       
‘It doesn’t look as if I’ve any choice, does it?’ He started the car. ‘Tell me what’s happening. And what do you want with the gear in the back?’

       
Tony was one of those drivers who got other motorists grinding their teeth and gripping their steering wheels, cursing and hitting their horns and brakes. I’d never seen him check his mirror before manoeuvring, his eyes were always on the car in front. He treated his Lagonda like a racing car, which in effect it was with its souped-up engine and specially modified steering and suspension. He weaved in and out of the traffic as we headed north towards Heathrow, hands light on the wheel and foot heavy on the accelerator, driving the way the manufacturers intended and the police frowned upon. It wasn’t the most relaxing way of travelling and the atmosphere in the luxurious car was already tense.

       
‘You know as much as I do, Tony. I told you last time I saw you, up in Edinburgh, what I’d planned, that I’d set up Laing and Kyle and got someone else to do my dirty work. I thought I’d got every angle covered but the whole bloody thing’s gone wrong. Shona rang me in Malta to tell me that McKinley was killed last week, and it won’t be long before they catch up with Kyle  . . .’

       
He looked at me as he passed a Jaguar on the inside at eighty. ‘They already have done,’ he said. ‘He died three days before they got to Carol. I suppose the news didn’t reach as far as Scotland. And Laing still hasn’t surfaced.’

       
So at least something had gone as planned, Kyle had been killed and Laing was dead or running scared. But there was no feeling of satisfaction, no warm glow of a job well done, just a gut-wrenching panic at yet another sign that the men I was up against would kill and keep on killing until everyone they thought was involved had been removed. It was a cold-blooded hunt which was a thousand times worse than the revenge I’d planned. This was business with no element of personal hatred. People were being killed solely as a warning to others, coolly, calmly and professionally. No hard feelings, business is business. They’d caught Sammy and David and I was next on the agenda.

       
‘They have killed Kyle and I thought it would end there, I swear it. They caught up with Iwanek in Spain but that was his own fault. He’d barely arrived in Benidorm before he started trying to flog the stuff. It must have been like a bluebottle flying smack bang into the middle of a spider’s web, setting off all sorts of trip wires.’

       
‘Trip wires stretching back to where?’ he asked, and that was the £250,000 question and this time he deserved a straight answer because now he was in as much danger as I was. I took a deep breath to prepare myself because the shit was really going to hit the fan.

       
‘Ireland,’ I said and turned to look at him. We didn’t accelerate and he didn’t slam hard on the brakes but the temperature in the air-conditioned Lagonda dropped at least ten degrees. It was a full thirty seconds before he spoke, and only after he’d softly rubbed the scar where the ridge of white skin merged into his moustache.

       
‘Jesus Christ, what have you done?’ he asked quietly, and it reminded me of Shona’s words, except this time it was well and truly rhetorical because he knew exactly what I’d done. ‘I assumed it was a few London hoods you’d got involved with, that I could have dealt with. But the IR bloody A? You must have been mad. They’ll never stop, you know that don’t you? They’ll keep on coming until we’re all dead.’

       
‘It shouldn’t have happened this way, the circle should have been closed once Laing and Kyle were killed,’ I said. ‘That should have ended it, Tony. I can’t understand how Carol got involved.’

       
‘Carol got involved, you stupid, inconsiderate bastard, because you involved her. If you’d been straight with me from the start I’d never have let you within a million miles of her. She didn’t deserve to die the way she did. Alone and screaming and blaming you and probably me too.’

       
‘It’s too late for what might have been, Tony,’ I said. ‘We can’t go back. God, I don’t want to spout a load of clichés but what’s done is done. If I could turn time back I would, believe me, but she’s dead and McKinley’s dead and I can’t change that. I’ve got to look after myself, and Shona and David, and you’ve got to protect yourself. If Carol gave them your name then you’re in as much danger as I am.’

       
‘You think I don’t know that?’ Tony replied. ‘That I hadn’t worked that out for myself? I’m scared shitless, more frightened than I’ve ever been in my life. And you know how well protected I am.’

       
I did, too. The Lagonda Tony was flinging around the A217 was enough to turn heads in its own right, but he’d spent another twenty thousand having numerous refinements installed. He’d got the car from a South American dictator as part payment for an arms deal and it came complete with an ultra-sophisticated alarm system. A pigeon landing on the bonnet was enough to set off a howling siren and a personal radio bleeper which Tony always carried. Most of the money had gone on structural refinements, armouring the body panels and reinforcing the underside making it virtually bombproof, armour-plated glass replacing the original windows, a petrol tank that you could fire a bullet through without causing an explosion, if you could find a bullet large enough and with enough velocity to penetrate the armoured tank in the first place.

       
The tyres were practically invulnerable, you could drive them through fire or over broken glass without any problems, and a blow-out at ninety mph wouldn’t even be noticed. The car had a common or garden radio telephone, but it was also equipped with a short-wave transmitter operating on a frequency used by diplomats and terrorist targets and constantly monitored by the Metropolitan Police.

       
At the touch of a button he could release five gallons of oil from the armoured boot which sounded like something only James Bond would need, but Tony swore he’d once had to use it and I believed him. There were other safety features he hadn’t told me about, and as far as he was concerned it was money well spent.

       
His home was even more secure. It was a turn of the century five-bedroomed detached house on three floors in Notting Hill, standing alone in half an acre and surrounded by an eight-foot wall. From the outside it looked like a highly desirable residence, which it was, the sort of house you’d expect to be occupied by a Channel Four film producer. It was also a fortress, and inside Tony was safer than the Crown Jewels. Anything larger than a cat moving across the lawn would set lights flashing on a console within the house and in the police station a mile away. The front and back gardens were covered by closed circuit television cameras. Just like the Lagonda all the windows were of toughened glass, and the outside doors were reinforced with steel. Tony had no household insurance. He didn’t need it.

       
Underground was a wine cellar which doubled as an inner sanctum, lined with concrete and entered through a three-inch thick steel door. Once locked it was airtight with a self-contained oxygen supply and virtually bomb-proof. There was a separate and well-protected telephone link with the local police station, and more than a few guests had remarked on the mauve telephone on the wall behind the chateau-bottled claret.

       
At home, in his office and in his car, Tony was safe, but we both knew that he was vulnerable when he moved between the three and we also knew that the sort of men we were dealing with now were fanatics with very long memories. If they decided that Tony was a target then it might be days, weeks, months, even years, but eventually they would come for him. Maybe while he was on holiday, playing squash, walking his Labrador, in his local pub, anytime, anywhere. No wonder he was frightened.

       
‘But it’s not myself I’m worried about, it’s you, and those close to you,’ he said. ‘I got hold of Shona at the office today so at least she’s safe. But there’s no sign of Sammy. Where is she?’

       
I’d been honest with him up to this point, but if I had any chance of getting Sammy and David out of this then I had to work alone. The last thing I wanted to do was to lie to Tony but I had no choice, if I could handle it myself and quickly then perhaps I could close the circle once and for all.

       
‘She’s safe, out of harm’s way,’ I lied, as casually as possible. Another stain on my hypothetical painting.

       
‘If that’s the case, sport, what do you need those for?’ and he glanced at the Harrods carrier bag.

       
‘I’m going to take them on at their own game, Tony. And it’s best you don’t know the details. Either way you’ll be OK. If I win then it’ll be over, if I lose then perhaps they’ll let it die with me. Whatever, I have to try. And you can’t help me, nobody can. It’s best you don’t know.’

       
‘I might be able to help. I have friends. And don’t forget that Laing could still be on the loose.’

       
‘God, Tony, I know that. If anyone could help it would be you, believe me. But I have to do this myself.’

       
‘A man’s got to do what a man’s got to do? Very macho. I’m your friend, let me help.’

       
‘I can’t, Tony. I’m sorry.’

       
He drove on in silence, burning up the miles along the M25 towards Heathrow at a steady ninety mph, flashing his headlights at anyone impertinent enough to stay in the outside lane and several times overtaking on the inside. ‘Where are you going?’ he asked after a while.

       
‘Stonehaven,’ I said. ‘There is one thing you can do for me.’

       
‘What’s that?’

       
‘You can order a hire car for me at Edinburgh Airport. Something big and powerful. I’ve got my Access card and a cheque book so there’s no problem in paying but it’ll save time if you book it for me.’

       
‘So Shona won’t be there to collect you?’

       
‘No. I’d rather she kept out of the way until this is over. And I’d feel safer if you did the same.’

       
‘Don’t worry about me, sport. Just be careful. And if I can help, let me know. I’ll be there like a shot.’

       
‘I know, Tony, I know. You’ve done more than enough already, more than I deserve. I won’t ever forget this.’ I put my hand on his shoulder and squeezed gently but he didn’t look at me and he didn’t speak again until we arrived at Heathrow. He waved me goodbye and good luck as I walked into the terminal with the case in one hand and the carrier bag in the other. I’d left the duty free with Tony. I wouldn’t be drinking for a while.

       
‘The car will be waiting for you at the airport,’ he shouted after me, and it was when I arrived in Edinburgh two hours later. It was bitterly cold and the wind tugged at my hair as I loaded the luggage into the red Cavalier.

       
My watch said 2.55 and in just a little over four hours I’d know when and where this was going to end, one way or another. The Cavalier started first time, it had a full tank of petrol and it kicked me in the back as I put the accelerator pedal to the floor and headed for Stonehaven.

I stopped off at a hardware store on the outskirts of Edinburgh, one of those tiny shops that have been in the same family for years, where they’ll sell you fifty different types of nails, a brown paper bag of assorted screws and the sort of tools that Spear and Jackson no longer bother to make.

       
It smelt of wet string and candle wax and oil and the old man behind the counter in a stained brown overall called me Sir. I bought a hacksaw, a small wood saw and a strong carpenter’s file. I couldn’t see any packets of sandpaper but the old man asked what I wanted, dived under the polished wooden counter and came up with four single sheets of large grain paper.