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We’ve already decided to arrange the meeting to be at Caernbro Ghyll. The Widow is aware of our presence there, so we will not be releasing new information. More to the point, it’s home turf. We can move our men in and control the environment. She must realise this, but she agrees anyway, a sure indication that she has some sort of scheme of her own up her sleeve.
Bring it on.
The mansion is brimmingwith men, our soldiers brought in from all over Scotland and the north of England. They are everywhere, in the grounds, on the roof, scanning CCTV images, covering every possible approach. We won’t be taken unawares.
An hour before the agreed time, Rome’s voice comes over the earpieces. “British Telecom van parked half a mile from our front gate.”
Aaron answers. “Check it out.”
The response is quick in coming. “Two men in front seats. Not got out.”
“Watch them and report.”
Ten minutes pass. My earpiece crackles again. “Two more vans arrived. Parked behind. No one getting out.”
“I have eyes on.” This from Moses.
He and Mickey have approached under the cover of the thickly wooded grounds. They are armed with a miniaturised handheld grenade launcher, originally developed for use in Ukraine. It’s carried like an assault rifle and is capable of taking out armoured vehicles at a few hundred metres.
“Stand by,” Aaron tells him. “We don’t know for sure they aren’t genuine, or that The Widow is on board.”
Like fuck we don’t. If British Telecom had plans to dig up the road outside our stronghold, we’d know about it. Still, he’s right to be cautious before opening fire. That sort of carnage would make a hell of a mess on our doorstep.
“Another vehicle approaching,” Rome announces. “Audi A3. Blacked-out windows.” There’s a pause, then, “It slowed down alongside, then sped away. Vans following.”
“That’s her,” Ethan growls.
He and I are watching from the roof. I check the cameras covering the gates and watch the Audi roll to a halt outside.
“Open the gate,” Ethan commands, at the same time dragging his phone from his pocket.Just you, he types, then presses ‘send’.
The Audi doesn’t move forward immediately.
“Close the gate,” is Ethan’s next command.
As soon as the huge grille begins to roll back, the Audi lurches through. The gates grind into place behind it, the three vans stuck outside in the road.
“Right. Let’s go meet our guest.” He heads for the stairs.
I follow in his wake, my handgun at the ready.
Callum is waiting for us close to the main door, wearing a tattered dark-blue hoodie and jeans. He looks incongruous, his normally dark-blond hair dyed a mousy shade of brown. His outfit is completed with green contact lenses.
He was the soldier closest to the late lamented Marlon in height and build. His disguise won’t deceive his mother for more than a few seconds once she gets a good view of him, but it should be enough to set the scene. He drags his hood up to cover his head and adopts a slouch he’s been practicing for days.
“Ready?” Ethan murmurs.
“Sure, boss.”
“Right. Let’s get this party started.”
Ethan is first out of the door. I’m beside him, my handgun prominently on show. We wait for the car doors to open.
The driver emerges first. He’s a huge brute of a man, dressed in an impeccable suit. I’m put in mind of a gorilla decked out in all that finery. The tableau is bordering on the ridiculous. He regards us for several moments, squinting up as we are silhouetted in the early morning sunshine. If this is meant to intimidate us, he clearly hasn’t understood his situation.
We chose our vantage point with care, the benefits of a home fixture. At least a dozen guns are trained on him, but his attention is fixed on me.
He saunters around the front of the vehicle to open the passenger door and helps a woman from within. Stick-thin, above average height, wearing unrelenting black, she cuts an impressive vision. It’s impossible to discern her age as she is veiled, but it doesn’t escape my attention that she rests her gloved hand on her companion’s arm at all times, suggesting she requires assistance with her mobility.
