Meltdown bs-4 Page 8

  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.'

  17

  Albie was forcing himself to concentrate as he prowled around the hangar. It wasn't easy: his brain wasn't functioning properly; he couldn't stop the rage building every time his thoughts turned to Storm walking out of the yard with that cocky little wanker, Danny.

  It didn't worry him at all when he saw Storm with Teddy or Will. They were poofs anyway, even if they didn't know it.

  Albie knew it. Everyone knew it. They just didn't mention it.

  But now Albie had to concentrate. Hard. His job was to oversee the final phase of the Meltdown operation. He never saw the first part. All he knew was that a truck would arrive with the first stage completed. The second stage took place in the other truck and then the pills were ready for transfer into the coaches. He had to make sure that it all went smoothly and that the drugs were stowed properly in the ingenious hiding places on the coaches.

  A three-inch-deep cavern extending across the entire floor area of each coach was removed in sections. More tablets would be stashed in hollowed-out blocks of the overhead storage lockers, in the steel legs of tables, in wall panels – anywhere there was a space that could be filled, even in the plush seating. The customers had no idea that they rode to Europe on Meltdown.

  If anyone local asked what they were doing, the cover story was that the coaches were being prepared for a round-trip to a top European football match – checked for any minor faults, cleaned, loaded with fresh supplies of excellent food and drink, and generally made ready for the guests paying megabucks for their expensive excursion. All of which was true. The cleaners and local delivery vans arrived during the day to do the legit work and the drugs were stowed when they were long gone.

  The twins were proud of the beautifully simple operation they had devised and developed.

  And they relied on Albie to see that it all ran smoothly. He'd got the first-stage truck away OK – that driver never caused any bother. But now Albie was struggling.

  The trouble was, Freddie Lucas was winding him up something rotten. Freddie was the second-stage chemist, and as far as Albie was concerned, he should have been minding his own business. But he wasn't.

  The tablets had emerged from Freddie's truck, each stamped on both sides with its distinctive 'M' – only visible under black light – before being sealed in protective silver foil and then bagged in polythene in batches of fifty.

  Now Freddie was watching the lads loading the pills, constantly telling them to be careful, getting in everyone's face, especially Albie's.

  The lads had nicknamed Freddie 'Fiery Fred', and it wasn't only because of his mop of flaming red hair. He watched over his Meltdown like a mother hen protecting her chicks, guarding each tablet as if it were a newly hatched egg. And if a bag of pills was dropped or split or even dirtied, he would fly into a rage.

  It was obvious that Freddie didn't like Albie. Albie didn't give a toss about that – no one liked him, but if they were wise, they kept out of his way. Freddie wasn't and he didn't.

  Albie reckoned that Freddie was just another public school prat; the type that thought that they were better than everyone else, that they knew best all the time, that people like Albie were beneath them.

  Albie didn't care about that either, but he was just longing to put his fist into Freddie's smug face. He knew he couldn't – he was already in enough trouble with the twins for previous violent outbursts and his dependence on M. He'd managed to convince them he was over that now, but if Freddie got on his case much more, Albie feared he wouldn't be able to stop himself from laying him out.

  There was a nagging ache in Albie's back – maybe it was his kidneys – and a stabbing pain in his chest. Neither would go away, and on top of that it felt as though his head was going to explode.

  He was sweating under the arc lights; he needed some more Ms. They always made him feel better. For a while. If only Freddie would piss off, he'd be able to do what he always did and slip a pack into his pocket. That way, he'd have enough for himself and plenty to sell on in one of the clubs. But Freddie wouldn't piss off. And Albie had to be so careful. If he got caught stealing the stuff, he'd be in the shit big time. But he didn't have a choice. He needed it.

  He also needed some air. He opened the metal door at the rear of the hangar. The arc lights speared through the doorway and out into the darkness, sparking up what sounded like a pack of wolves.

  It was the police dogs; some of them must have been on a sleepover instead of spending a quiet night in front of the fire with their handlers.

  A voice shouted, 'Quiet, Bruno! And you, Sasha!'

  'Shit,' breathed Albie, pulling the door shut. The last thing they needed was Plod calling round for a late-night chat.

  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 grandfa
ther 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. Dann
y 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.