Three Steps to Hell (11 page)

“Speak to them, find out what happened and get me the name and address of this agency driver.”

“I will speak to them when I go down there in a while. I’ll have to get his details from the agency.”

“No don’t do that, I’ll find out myself.”

“You had better get on with unloading the three crates from the Jeep ready for the boat, then move my Jeep up to the old cottage. Be careful with them, they’re heavy.”

“How come they are steel crates, Carlos?”

“Since when do I have to answer to you Rashid, do what you’re told, you know what happens to people with over inquisitive minds.”

“Okay, none of my business, it’s just that if we’re going into gun running as well I would like to be aware.”

Carlos gave him a look that very immediately told him to ask nothing further and just get on with the job in hand. Carlos left the office in the darkness, buttoned up his black overcoat and put on a black ski mask. He let himself through the security gate and made his way down the winding path which led towards two caves, one at a higher level than the other. In places both caves had been heavily gated for security and signs put up near the entrances saying ‘Danger Insecure Rockface. Do Not Enter’. The lower cave filled to a considerable depth with seawater at high tide. Carlos endeavoured to find a perfect vantage point from which to observe the procedures at the boat. It was important that he be close enough to also hear conversations.

Rashid and his men eventually appeared. He watched intently as they worked with torchlights at the water’s edge to help guide the small fishing boat out of the darkness towards the cave. Rashid was in touch with the skipper by mobile phone.

Only two men would be on the boat, both very trusted employees of Maria Peterson and personally selected and groomed by Carlos and Maria for the work they were doing. Joint owners of the boat, they had watched their earnings diminish over the years due to the collapse of the fishing industry and through a mutual contact Carlos had coaxed them into the highly rewarding enterprise of running cocaine and other substances between the UK and French and Spanish coasts. The guise of the fishing boat, all its equipment, the disgusting smell of fish and the hold space met their needs perfectly. Both knew the danger of the business they had entered and were completely familiar with Carlos’s attitude towards total secrecy and trust. They were good men, great seafarers and had very quickly earned both Maria’s and Carlos’s respect.

It was the peak of high tide, the only time the boat could be successfully negotiated right up to and partly into the lower cave. Once securely tethered Carlos looked on as Rashid approached and he and his men greeted the fishermen.

Several wooden crates were off loaded and manhandled up to the higher dry and secure cave. They would never remain there for any length of time, it was purely a short term holding area until they could be moved to one of the more secure/alarmed converted farm buildings and prepared for distribution. The steel crates were moved down ready to be loaded.

Carlos then watched and listened eagerly to Rashid’s two employees whilst they helped Rashid and one of the fishermen load the three steel crates. Carlos had not met these two new employees, taken on in a hurry by Rashid about two months previously due to the demise of two well trusted long term employees in a high speed car accident in Essex. Carlos’s first impressions of the two burly leather jacketed individuals were not good, they were treating Rashid with very little respect and had handled the unloading of the wooden crates with very little care. Should one of these ever drop into the water the cost to the Peterson empire could be vast.

This particular night another figure had appeared on the private path to the caves at a much higher level than Carlos. Again keeping well out of sight and watching the proceedings through binoculars was Maria Peterson. Her reason for being here tonight was far removed from that of the others. Eventually she watched the three steel crates being loaded on to the boat.

Rashid’s helpers Tony Davidson and Alan McDonald were very inquisitive as to the contents. Rashid repeatedly told them to be quiet and that they should not ask questions but just do their job. Rashid, McDonald and Davidson had first met five years previously in prison. Rashid was serving a nine-month sentence for a serious assault following a pub fight during which he had opened his assailant’s face from mouth to ear with a knife. McDonald and Davidson had been very close friends since childhood. Both avid bikers and Hells Angels prospects who never quite made the grade.

The crates were heavy. They stopped short of the boat with the last one, put it down at the bottom end of the path and sat on it. McDonald said, “Fag break Rashid.”

Rashid replied aggressively “Get off your fucking arses and get that last crate loaded now.”

“Fuck off Rashid,” replied McDonald “We’re having a quick break, we did enough of your dirty work last night.”

“What did you do with that guy last night?” Rashid asked.

“Took him away in the van, stabbed him up a bit and dumped him in a lay-by.”

McDonald and Davidson looked at each other and grinned as if the whole thing was a joke. They each raised a hand and did a high five.

“He’s okay, got stitched up in hospital, we found out where he lived and visited him again this morning at home and gave him a bit more, scared him good and proper, he won’t bother us again.”

Rashid was for a moment speechless.

“For fuck’s sake, you’re not on some Glasgow council estate now, I told you if you work for me you’re totally discreet and never do anything to draw attention to our work. I told you to remove him and warn him off meaning taking him away and making it clear to him that he was no longer welcome or needed here. How you interpret that as meaning to stab him, I have no idea.”

“You saw what a mouthy little arsehole he was, fuck him, he won’t be back, trust me Rashid, people don’t mess with me and Tony twice,” bragged McDonald.

Rashid sighed, “So I don’t suppose you thought that your actions may now bring a police interest and start a police enquiry locally?”

McDonald laughed and shrugged his shoulders. Rashid was exceptionally worried as to what parts of this conversation Carlos might be hearing. “You stab someone it brings the Old Bill. Fucking idiots,” Rashid said in complete frustration.

He very quickly realised that Carlos must have heard a majority of the conversation when he suddenly saw a dark ski-masked figure appear at the bottom of the path. Rashid instantly felt sick and at this moment feared for his own life. Davidson and McDonald also saw the dark figure.

“Who the fuck are you?” shouted Davidson

“The grim reaper,” replied Carlos, “Now move that fucking crate on to the boat now!”

Davidson and McDonald instantly sensed Rashid’s alarm at the arrival of this figure.

“Do what the man says immediately,” ordered Rashid.

They took the crate aboard, Carlos took the Smith and Wesson from inside his coat and discreetly fitted a silencer. Rashid looked at Carlos. “No Carlos, I had no idea how badly they fucked up last night, I can’t watch everything they do, I’ve tried to teach them the best I can. I’m sorry they fucked up, I will sort it all out, give me a chance.”

Carlos didn’t speak, looked towards Davidson and McDonald, levelled the gun at them and told them to move to the back of the boat. As they stood there Carlos asked, “So who is the hard man out of the two of you. Which one of you stabbed this guy last night?”

McDonald proudly announced that it was him.

“I enjoyed it. Who are you? What’s your fucking problem anyway?”

“You are you piece of shit,” answered Carlos as he levelled the gun directly at McDonald’s head.

McDonald tried hard to conceal it but for once he was scared, very scared. He had no idea who this was and couldn’t see his face making it difficult to determine how serious he was, but the voice coupled with the reaction of Rashid and the fishermen led him to conclude that this was one dangerous individual. He went to the inside pocket of his leather jacket to pull out the imitation firearm that he had used to scare Tom Lancaster and other road users that afternoon. He mistakenly thought that it might create a stalemate situation with Carlos. How wrong could a person be! As soon as Carlos saw a glimpse of the gun he uttered two little Spanish words.

“Hoy moriras.” (Today you die).

Immediately Rashid knew McDonald was a dead man. Carlos fired with uncanny accuracy putting one bullet clearly through McDonald’s forehead, his body falling instantly backwards over the boat into the water.

Davidson fell to his knees and begged Carlos not to kill him as well.

“It was all Alan’s idea to stab the bloke up, honest, I just want to earn some money, give me a chance to prove myself, please don’t kill me, for fuck’s sake man please don’t. Tell me whatever I need to do to put it right and I’ll do it.”

Carlos walked to Davidson and pressed the end of the silencer hard to his forehead. Davidson was trembling with fear, beads of sweat on his forehead. He dared not speak.

“Okay, you’re lucky tonight, you have your second chance. Take all this very seriously though, one wrong word from you to anyone about what has happened tonight or about what happens here and you’ll join your friend, understand?”

“Okay, okay,” pleaded Davidson, “Whatever you want man.”

Carlos knew only too well that this was often the way that the most loyal employees were created, through total and complete fear. He felt it highly unlikely that Davidson would now put a foot wrong having witnessed at first hand the brutal consequences of disobedience.

“You said you visited this guy this morning, what vehicle did you use?” Carlos enquired.

“A motorbike,” Davidson replied, “But it’s not registered to either of us, it’s still registered to the guy we bought if off in Glasgow.”

“Get rid of it tomorrow, burn it. Rashid will provide transport if you need it. If I have one more problem with you, you’re dead, understand? Lose the leathers, dress differently, shave that stupid beard off. Do what you need to do to make sure that driver can’t recognise you again. Rashid will find you a place to live, you’ll use a false name. Are you grasping all this?”

“Yes, you have my word, I won’t let you down again.”

“That’s correct, you won’t!” Carlos fired the gun a couple of inches above Davidson’s head.

“Rashid get him out of my sight, I will sort this mess out from here.”

Rashid and Davidson returned up the path to the top cave to move the unloaded wooden crates up to the farm buildings. The crates were marked ‘Antiques Fragile’, but the contents, 98% pure top quality cocaine.

Davidson had been very quiet and was visibly shaken and ashen white.

“Fuck, who is that guy Rashid?”

Rashid replied, “What didn’t you understand about no questions?”

“Hey man, I’m only making conversation, it’s cool, I’m just helping moving antiques, it’s cool honest, I’m not going to end up on the wrong side of whoever that was, you really have my word, I nearly shit myself when he pointed that gun at me.”

Rashid was thoughtful for a minute.

“Do all the things he said and get rid of the bike, you can use the van for a while, you work here as a driver/storeman moving antiques about, you understand?”

“Yes,” replied Davidson nervously.

“If anyone asks any questions about this place or the whereabouts of McDonald you say nothing and tell me immediately. This driver you supposedly dealt with last night, he would recognise you wouldn’t he?”

“It was dark, I don’t know, but this morning I had a crash helmet and ski mask on. I’m sure he has no idea what our identities are anyway.”

“How did you find out his address?”

“Off his driving licence, Alan took his wallet off him after he stabbed him, said he wanted some beer money.”

“Oh great! Where the fuck is that now?”

“No idea,” Davidson replied shrugging his shoulders.

In the meantime Carlos had instructed his two fishermen friends to retrieve McDonald’s body from the water and to take it far out to sea before dumping it together with the three steel crates, not forgetting to clean any blood from the boat before docking in France. He had decided not to do the trip with them after all so that he could be close by should any further problems occur.

Maria Peterson had watched the whole evening’s events through her binoculars. Nothing she saw involving Carlos ever concerned or surprised her. She lowered her binoculars, smiled to herself and blew a kiss out to sea. A sarcastic cheerio to her husband Colin who was headed out to sea in pieces in the three steel crates to rot on the bottom of the ocean. Carlos’s earlier years after first fleeing to the UK were spent working in an abattoir. As well as being the perfect job for him to vent his inherited and rather worrying savage and bloodthirsty tendencies it had added admirably to his body disposal skills.

Maria returned to her house, poured herself a large whisky, sat in her husband’s office chair with her feet on his desk, smiled and laughed loudly to herself. Another problem gone. Now she had full and complete control and she liked the feeling a lot. However, had she been in a position to overhear the conversation about Evans her elation may have been somewhat dampened.

Tom Lancaster enjoyed two glorious days off, the first dedicated to catching up on some well-deserved sleep and enjoying long walks with Misty. Unusually he kept his mobile turned off so that he couldn’t be bothered by work and let the answer phone at home deal with any other calls. The weather was wonderful for the time of year and the morning of the second day had been spent catching up with the many gardening jobs that he had continually postponed. Just prior to lunch his neighbour Jenny Ryan appeared at the fence, “Hi Tom. What a beautiful day.”

“Hi Jen, yes wonderful, how are you?”

“I’m fine ta, do you fancy a walk together with Misty somewhere this afternoon?”

“Yes that would be lovely, how about down by the reservoir, I’ll drive.”

“Great Tom, if you’re driving, I will make us a picnic, how about that.”