Meltdown Page 10

  He turned back and looked at the coaches. One of them was already loaded with its cargo of Meltdown; the other was well on the way, and Albie had not had one opportunity to grab a bag.

  He went across to the coach that was ready to go. After all, it was his job to check that everything was in order.

  Inside, it looked immaculate, more like the interior of a presidential jet than a coach. There were just twenty plush, airline-style seats; the remainder of the interior was filled with stylish high-tech business and relaxation areas – an Internet hot zone, plasma TV screens, DVD players – everything the guests needed to relax or keep tabs on important business was no more than an arm's length away.

  Albie shrugged. It looked fine, as always. He went to check the other coach. The false floors had been replaced, as had the overhead locker panels; there was little more to be done – just the bags that would be crammed into the seats. They were always done last. The two loaders were taking a fag break. Albie walked up the gangway, briefly alone on the coach. Now was his chance.

  Then he heard someone coming up the steps at the front of the coach, followed by Freddie's grating voice. 'What are you doing, Albie?'

  Albie turned round, his eyes boring into the chemist. 'What the fuck has it got to do with you?'

  Freddie stood his ground. If he was intimidated, it didn't show. 'I'm responsible for the consignment. I have to know it's been loaded correctly'

  'You! Your job is to make the stuff. It's down to me to check it and load it. Now get out of my face before I stick one of your test tubes up your ginger arse!'

  Freddie hesitated. His own temper was of the specifically verbal variety; he didn't go in for violence and he didn't have a death wish. And he knew that Albie was more than capable of carrying out his threat. He backed away. 'I shall speak to the twins about this,' he told Albie.

  'Talk to who you like!' Albie grinned as he watched Fiery Fred hurrying away, his flames well and truly extinguished.

  'Wanker,' he breathed as he grabbed a bag of Meltdown and shoved it into his jacket pocket.

  18

  Thnx 4 coffee.

  Want 2 do a

  club bit Itr?

  xx

  Danny was with Lee when the text from Storm arrived. They were grabbing a meal in a pizza restaurant just round the corner from Fergus and Danny's hotel.

  Phil had the trigger on the twins, who had moved into the Malmaison Hotel in the city centre while their apartment was being sorted.

  Danny handed his mobile to Lee, who read the text and then checked his watch. It was 9.45. He handed the mobile back to Danny.

  'You going?'

  'Dunno. What d'you reckon?'

  'I'm not your dad, Danny. You don't need to ask my permission. But if you are thinking of going, you should talk to Fergus – and not because he's your granddad, but because he's your boss. The blonde bombshell's not just some good-looking bird, she's a target.'

  Danny nodded. Sometimes the fact that Fergus was his grandfather as well as his boss made him uncomfortable when he was with Lee and Phil. It was a bit like a football manager playing his own son in a team; other people might not be convinced he was really there on merit.

  But Fergus made a point of never showing Danny any special favours; if anything, he was even tougher on him, but Danny had never been certain how Lee and Phil felt about it.

  'Are you OK with the granddad thing? Him and me working together on this, I mean?' he asked Lee.

  Lee smiled. 'Listen, Danny. Dudley wouldn't have wanted you if he didn't think you had a part to play. And from what I've seen of Fergus, he wouldn't have agreed to you being in unless you could do a job. That's good enough for me.'

  'What about Phil – what does he think?'

  'Phil keeps himself to himself, like Fergus, but if he wasn't happy about it all, he'd let Fergus know soon enough. Some day his life could depend on you.' He looked at Danny closely. 'And so could mine.'

  Danny finished his pizza, thinking about what Lee had said. He pushed away his plate. He wanted to see Storm away from the office again. He'd enjoyed being with her in the coffee shop; for a short while he'd let himself relax and be normal for once. They got on well and Danny liked the way Storm seemed to be so impressed by the action-packed life she assumed he lived.

  He brought himself back to the present. 'Well, I suppose I'll have to go clubbing then. All in the line of duty, of course.'

  'Just make sure it is.' Lee laughed through a mouthful of pizza. 'And call your—'

  But Danny was already punching in the number on his mobile. He told his grandfather about Storm's text.

  'I didn't learn much this morning. She may not know a lot but I reckon it would be a good idea if I met her, don't you?' he asked him.

  Fergus couldn't hold back his laugh. 'I'm sure it would. Seems you do have some charm after all. But you're working, Danny, remember that. We need to find that DMP. Keep focused. Tell Lee I want him to back you – you might well meet people who are worth following. We've got to make the most of these opportunities when they come up.'

  'Right.'

  'And before you meet Storm, give Phil a call. Make sure he knows what's going on. And be careful.'

  'Right,' said Danny again. He hung up, thinking that his date with Storm had already turned into much more than a date. Quickly he passed on his grandfather's orders.

  'Yeah, thought as much,' said Lee, wiping pizza crumbs from his mouth. 'Why is it that you always get the girl and I get the surveillance?'

  Danny grinned. 'Must be my good looks.'

  'Something like that.' Lee smiled, then took out some cash and beckoned to a waiter. 'Call Storm, tell her you're up for it. And then you'd better smarten yourself up. Don't want to disappoint the lady, do you?'

  Phil was sitting at a small table in the bar of the Malmaison Hotel, holding his mobile to his ear. He couldn't help smiling to himself as he listened to Danny telling him the score.

  'So you did make sure you flossed, eh?'

  'Yeah, yeah, yeah.'

  Danny closed down and Phil put his mobile away. At the tables all around him, people were chatting and laughing as wall speakers pushed out soft lounge-lizard music. Phil thought back to the bars in what was left of the best hotels in Baghdad, where the background music had been a cacophony of helicopters whirring overhead, machine-gun fire and exploding shells, some of them close enough to make the building shudder.

  Phil checked his watch: it was nearly 11.20. He glanced up and saw Teddy coming down the carpeted, sloping entrance to the bar, closely followed by his younger brother. Teddy was moving slowly and awkwardly – he was obviously still in a lot of discomfort and wore sunglasses to hide the embarrassment of his black eyes.

  Phil sat back in his chair and watched him find a space at a padded, high-backed banquette on the far side of the room while Will went to the bar and ordered drinks. He returned to his brother with what Phil reckoned were two glasses of Coke, but before either of them could take a drink, another young guy with a shock of flaming red hair came hurrying into the bar. He didn't look happy.

  He spotted the twins, went straight over to their table and sat down. He was too far away for Phil to hear exactly what was being said, but it was quite clear that something was wrong. The twins listened as the guy talked animatedly, occasionally glancing at each other and frowning.

  Phil pulled his mobile from the inside pocket of his jacket and pressed the speed dial: the angry red-haired guy was a total newcomer on the scene; this could be an interesting development.

  Fergus answered the call immediately. 'What you got?'

  19

  Storm and Danny were laughing as they hurried towards the club, avoiding the puddles and pretending to dodge the raindrops like a couple of kids.

  As they neared the long queue, Danny realized that he hadn't really laughed for months. He thought of Elena, and for a moment he felt guilty, as if he shouldn't be here enjoying himself. But he shook the thought away. He was
on a job; it was OK. Elena would have told him that.

  Instead of joining the back of the queue, Storm made her way up towards the door, grabbing Danny's hand and dragging him with her.

  'But don't we have to—?'

  'No, Danny, we don't.'

  Two black-suited, burly bouncers stood in the doorway. They smiled at Storm, gave Danny a quick, appraising once-over and moved aside so that they could pass straight through. As they headed into the club, Danny spotted Lee, just two back in the queue. He didn't know if Lee had seen him, but even if he had, there would have been no eye-to-eye.

  As soon as they stepped into the darkened reception area, staff came hurrying up, as though visiting royalty had arrived. Someone took Storm's coat and the manager came out to welcome her like a long-lost sister, kissing her on both cheeks and telling her how wonderful it was to see her again.

  There was no question of them paying to get in. They were led into the club itself and then told to have a wonderful evening – there was plenty of room in the VIP area.

  The pounding, thudding music was so loud that Danny had to shout to be heard. 'What was all that about?'

  'What?' shouted Storm.

  Danny pointed back to the entrance. 'The special treatment! We didn't even pay!'

  Storm laughed. 'The twins use this club. They never pay, and neither do their special friends.'

  Danny shook his head and smiled as he looked around the club. It was just before midnight and the place seemed packed to capacity. It was a long time since he'd ventured into a club of any description, and on those very few occasions they'd been the downmarket sort of place where no one questioned your age.

  This one was different; it was definitely the cool place to be. The dance floor was a seething mass of dazzling white teeth and white shirts, as dancers gyrated, sometimes under multicoloured lights, sometimes under black light – UV light that couldn't be seen but turned anything white brilliantly luminous.

  Danny had made an effort to look the part after Storm told him that the dress code at the club was 'smart casual', meaning no jeans. Danny was almost always in jeans and T-shirt or sweatshirt and trainers, and he didn't exactly have an extensive wardrobe.

  But during the build-up in Hereford he'd been ordered to go and buy a few more items of clothing – his instructors had told him that jeans and sweatshirt wouldn't always be what was required. So he'd gone to the Next store in Hereford and bought a couple of pairs of trousers and some shirts, and even a pair of regular shoes.

  The shoes were pinching his feet and he was hoping that Storm wouldn't ask him to dance. His dancing was terrible at the best of times, but in these shoes he'd look like a total idiot.

  Fortunately Storm was avoiding the seething mass of bodies on the dance floor and was heading for the bar, where the music level was slightly less eardrum-bursting.

  A barman appeared the moment Storm flashed her stunning smile. 'Large vodka tonic, please!' She turned to Danny. 'What about you?'

  It was another problem. Danny hadn't realized that a simple evening out could be so complicated. He didn't drink. Not because he had any objection to it; he just didn't like the taste. He'd tried beer a few times and thought it was revolting; he'd never bothered with anything stronger. But he couldn't tell Storm that – he'd feel a right dickhead.

  'Come on, Danny,' said Storm. 'We're not the only customers.'

  'Er . . . er . . . I'll have a Beck's.'

  Storm paid for the drinks, caught Danny's eye and nodded towards the VIP section. It was less crowded and they'd be able to sit down and talk – which, Danny reminded himself, was what he was there for.

  He noticed the envious glances he received from other guys as they squeezed through and headed for the blue velvet rope which barred the way to everyone but the so-called VIPs. Storm might not be his girlfriend, but the guys watching them didn't know that. It made him feel good and he smiled as a big bouncer detached the rope and held it back so that they could walk through.

  But not all the looks cast in Danny's direction were envious; one was filled with hatred, scorching into him like a laser.

  It was Albie. And Albie wasn't having a good night. His Meltdown-addled mind was in turmoil as his eyes flicked from Danny to Storm. The slag! She wouldn't come to a club with him but now she was here with that poncy wimp!

  Albie turned away from any watching eyes and opened one clenched hand: two brilliant white Ms glowed under the black light.

  The red Mini Cooper was travelling at a steady pace away from Manchester city centre.

  Fergus had told Phil to follow the angry young man with the flaming red hair when he left the twins, and to get an IR marker on his vehicle – if he had a vehicle.

  Well, Carrot-top had a vehicle right enough; it was a deeper shade of red than his hair.

  The exchange between Carrot-top and the twins had been pretty short and not too sweet. He'd said what he had to say listened to what Phil guessed were some reassuring words from the twins, and then got up and left. Phil had followed, hoping that he'd get lucky and his target had a vehicle parked nearby. If he didn't, it might well be all over before it began.

  Phil's Vectra was parked close to the hotel. He followed his target up into reception and through the glass double doors at the front. Directly across the street was a parking bay where three taxis stood waiting for fares. If Carrot-top took the first, Phil would have no option but to jump into the one behind and do the old 'follow that car' routine.

  That wouldn't be good. The roads were relatively quiet at this time of night, and even if Carrot-top didn't clock that he was being followed, his cab driver probably would. If he mentioned it to his passenger, then Phil's game would almost certainly be up.

  But Carrot-top ignored the taxis and turned left, pulling a key fob from his pocket as he strode away. It was a good sign; his car was most likely very close by, unless he just enjoyed walking around with a bunch of keys in his hand.

  He was obviously still too angry to even consider the possibility that someone might be following him. Phil smiled as his target took the first left, Gore Street, which was where the nearest parking meters were located. And exactly where Phil's Vectra was parked.

  As Phil made the turn, he saw the lights flash on a red Mini as his target pointed the key fob at the vehicle. It was a little further along the street, right outside the pub on the corner. And, even better news, it was facing the same way as Phil's Vectra. That made life a lot easier.

  Phil got into his vehicle, started the engine and waited until the Mini pulled away. He made a note of the number plate, which he would later check to find a name and address. Not that the driver was necessarily the owner, but it would be a start towards finding who was behind the wheel. The Mini turned right and Phil pulled out to follow. Now it was down to two simple factors: Phil's considerable driving skills coupled with an equally considerable slice of good luck.

  Phil's luck stayed good as the Mini took a right at traffic lights and then continued across Piccadilly and away from the city centre.

  Fortunately Carrot-top was no boy racer. Phil followed him easily, but at a greater distance than usual, until he got held at traffic lights. He waited calmly for the lights to change back in his favour – there was no point in getting worked up about it.

  Edging the Vectra just over the speed limit, he soon had the target in sight again. It was three vehicles ahead of him and Phil saw that it was indicating right.

  He followed the Mini into a residential area; maybe Carrot-top was almost home.

  The Mini entered a quiet side street and turned left past a small block of flats. Phil took a gamble and pulled the Vectra to a standstill before the turn. If his target was about to park up, he would automatically notice any approaching vehicle as he got out.